


retribution

by iswawrites



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Rewrite, Dark Jon Snow, Dark!Jon, F/M, Identity Issues, Jon is soft for Sansa and Dark when it comes to his enemies, Political!Jon, Political!Robb, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives AU, Slow Burn, i don't make the rules, soft jon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:02:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 54,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24149407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iswawrites/pseuds/iswawrites
Summary: - Retribution is a rewrite of ASOIAF where Jon grows up knowing he’s a Targaryen. Robert Baratheon bargains his life with the hand of Sansa Stark in marriage. Except Jon and Stark grow up together in Winterfell and end up falling in love. In a world where your fate is already decided by the elders, how does love win?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Robb Stark/Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)
Comments: 211
Kudos: 318





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I'm back with another Jon x Sansa fic. This one was inspired by a fanmade I found a while ago ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nc1nFlnSPIo&list=FLKaSA5GE-y1CBCSmpSjWy5Q&index=10&t=0s ) and I really wanted to write this story. I am going to be going off most of the plot of the video, but I'll make it my own too. I'll be basing myself on both show and book verse, choosing what suits best for the story :) I hope you'll enjoy !

**Catelyn**

  
  


Catelyn Stark looks down as she watches the children play down in the open courtyard. Robb and Theon are chasing the girls, making guttural noises, pretending to be monsters of some sorts, while Sansa, Jeyne and Arya are running around pretending to be princesses in need of a rescue. Catelyn smiles when she sees the smile on Arya’s face, remembering how earlier the little girl had disagreed on playing with her siblings. Now, Jon steps into the scene and unsheathes a wooden sword from his makeshift belt. Catelyn can’t hear the words he says but she doesn’t miss the growing smile on her eldest daughter’s face as Jon starts fake-fighting Robb and Theon. She doesn’t miss how Jon grins when Sansa hugs him after he ‘wins’. 

“You have to tell the children, Ned.” She says, not turning to him. “The king and his party are arriving in less than a fortnight, you have to tell them…”, she pauses and turns to Ned Stark and finds his striking grey eyes set on her, “you have to tell Sansa.” 

Ned Stark sighs and looks down at the parchment roll in his hand. It had come earlier this morning, informing them of the King’s progress. They were so close now and it feels like a trap closing in on them. Catelyn’s relationship with the Lannisters and Baratheon aren’t bad per say, but she remembers the year Ned spent away from her, thanks to Robert’s Rebellion. And now, after all these years, learning to know him, learning to know him, he might leave her again. “ I never thought it would be like this. I never thought they would..” Her husband lets out as he rolls the parchment again. 

“That’s the price we pay for raising him with us, knowing who he is. We could have sent him anywhere, to the Vale, but you-”

“He’s my family, Cat!” Ned’s voice is strong and clear and Catelyn knows the argument is lost then. “I wasn’t going to let my nephew at the hands of strangers! I owe it to Lyanna, I owe it to him. He’s a Targaryen but he’s also a Stark, he has my blood, he has northern blood, and if he was to be anywhere else, they would have his blood.” 

“And promising our daughter’s hand to the prince in exchange of his life saves him how, Ned?” Catelyn asks. “You see them everyday, you see the way they look at each other.. They’ll never understand.” 

“They’ll have to.” Ned says, and he stands from his seat by the railing. “For their own sake, they’ll have to.” And with that, he turns and leaves Catelyn by herself. She turns back towards the yard and she watches as now Robb is teaching Bran how to shoot arrows, but her gaze falls on Sansa, and the way she’s leaning on Jon’s shoulder and how Jon grins looking down at her. _Gods, please, helps us_ , she silently prays as she steps away from the railing. 

  
  


**Sansa**

  
  


Sansa is kneading her fingers through Lady’s fur while her mother is braiding her hair for dinner. Usually she would do it herself, but tonight she likes to have her mother’s attention for herself. There’s a lightness in Sansa’s chest. Today had been particularly wonderful, she had gotten to spend the whole afternoon with Jon and the boys, since Septa Mordane had dismissed her and Arya and the other girls early. They had played dragons and princesses and Jon had rescued her and Arya each time and Sansa can’t pretend the butterflies in her stomach that come to life everytime Jon touches her are nothing anymore. Just thinking of Jon and his smile makes her all giddy inside, how he always smiles at her, how he always listens when she has something to say or when she sings after dinner. Biting her lip, she feels the need to confide. “Mother?”

“Yes, sweetling?” 

“How old were you when you married Father?” 

If her mother is surprised, she hides it well, but Sansa feels her movements stopping for a quick second before resuming. “I was twelve when I was first betrothed to your late uncle Brandon. But I married your father when I was eighteen.” 

“Does that mean I can be betrothed now?” Sansa turns to her mother quickly, her eyes shining with hope. “I am fourteen now, does this mean if I ask Father to give my hand to Jon, he’ll do it?” 

This time, her mother doesn’t add her surprise. “ Sansa-”

“Mother, please. I love Jon, and I think he loves me too. He always smiles at me and he listens to me and he’s the one who handed Lady to me. He’s always kind to me, and to everyone. Please Mother, can you ask Father? Please Mother?” 

Her lady mother watches her, her brows slightly furrowed, but Sansa doesn’t lower her gaze, full of determination. Trying to gather herself, Lady Catelyn clears her throat. “ Did Jon put you up to this?” 

Sansa shakes her head. “ No, Jon would never. He’s too gallant to even think of that. He always says he doesn’t deserve nice things but he’s wrong. Please Mother, you need to ask Father for me, please?” Catelyn tries to argue but Sansa continues. “Please, it’s the only thing I’ll ever ask of you, Mother. I’ll never ask anything other than that, please you have to!” 

Lady Catelyn watches her daughter, and there’s something in her blue eyes that Sansa’s eyes can’t decipher. Her mother doesn’t answer her, she only sighs and soothes Sansa’s vibrant red hair. “Come now, let’s go and meet the others downstairs.” 

Sansa’s shoulders fall a little and she follows her lady mother as they meet the rest of the family downstairs. Sansa takes a seat at the table, in between Robb and Arya, and even the sight of Jon in front of her doesn’t help her mood. He frowns at her sullen face, and tilts his head slightly to the side, silently asking her what’s wrong. She could smile from how good he is at reading her, but not tonight. She shakes her head and mouths _later_. She’ll tell him later. She hadn’t lied, the idea was truly hers, and watching Jon, so handsome and tall sitting at the dinner table, she thinks maybe she should have asked him first. In the songs, it’s always the knight and princes courting the lady or princess. But she knows Jon, and the conflict in his heart from hm being a Stark and a Targaryen at the same time. Sansa always tells him that his parents’ story is like a song, the knight falling for a maiden lady and they elope together, but Jon sees it very differently. Whenever she tries to reason with her, he brings up the fact that Rhaegar Targaryen already had a family, and that he shouldn’t have left them for his mother, that it’s not the honourable thing to do. 

The food is served but before they start eating, Ned holds his hand for them to wait. “I have something to tell you all.” There’s a silence around the table, even baby Rickon is quiet, not even sucking on his thumb like he usually does. “The King.. King Robert is coming North, to Winterfell. He’s bringing a whole party with him.” 

“They’ve never come here. Why now?” Robb asks, and Sansa wishes she was as brave as Robb, if she were, she could ask Father for Jon’s hand herself. 

“Jon Arryn has passed. I think he’s going to ask me to be his new Hand.” 

At this, all the children’s voices erupt in chaos. What was a quiet table is now children asking and shouting over each other. 

“Are you going to leave us?” 

“Do we all have to go?” 

“What’s a Hand?” 

“Are you going to say yes?” 

  
  


“Quiet!” Ned’s voice booms and all children still. “I do not know if that’s the exact reason why he’s coming here, but it probably is.” 

“How did Lord Arryn die?” Jon asks, and Sansa hears the concern in his voice. “He was very young..”

“That’s not the matter at hand here, Jon.” Ned dismisses him and Sansa feels bad for Jon. She sees the way he casts his eyes downwards in embarassment. “The matter is, if the King asks me to be his Hand, I’ll probably have to say yes.” 

“No, you don’t.” Robb pipes in. “Father you can’t just.. you can’t leave..” There’s a certain despair in his voice and Sansa hears it even though Robb tries to school his expression into a stoic one. 

“I’ll decide when the time comes.” Ned sighs and he rubs his forehead in exhaustion. “It’s not all. I .. There’s an important matter that I should have told you, all of you, when it was made. But years passed and I almost forgot about it.” His gaze flickers to Jon for a quick second, Sansa doesn’t miss it. “ Robert.. the King.. He vowed to chase down every Targaryen after he won.. I managed to convince him to spare Jon, for the love he held for Lyanna. But he asked me something in return.” 

  
  


**Jon**

Silence falls around the table and no one dares to move. Jon’s fingers clench in his lap, waiting for his uncle to continue. But Lord Stark seems to be equally troubled with how to continue. 

“What did he ask for?” Jon asks but he’s not sure he wants to know the answer. He feels like there’s a dagger at his throat and the answer will only press it further into his skin. 

Ned doesn’t look at him though, as he answers, his eyes are set straight on Sansa. “He asked for Sansa’s hand for his son Joffrey.” 

His heart sinks in his chest. Jon’s eyes go to Sansa and the only comfort he finds hearing this horrible news is the fact that Sansa looks as horrified as he is. All color has gone from her face and he doesn’t think she’s breathing. “Father, no..” Her voice is small, and Jon wishes he could grab her hand across the table and hold her, give her some comfort. But not right now. “Father , please, I can’t marry the Prince!” Tears starts to roll down her cheeks and Jon’s heart breaks. His fists clench further, his nails digging into his palm, at the thought of some prince touching Sansa but he knows he has to stay quiet. It’s not his place. 

“The match is set, Sansa.” Ned states and Jon knows from the tone of his voice that there’s no going back. “It’s done. You will marry the prince and-”

“I’d rather die!” Sansa exclaims and she pushes her chair away and runs from the room. Jon raises from his seat, ready to go after her, on impulse, pulled to her like a moth to a flame, but Lady Catelyn stops him. “ Jon.” He doesn’t need to look at her to know the way she’s looking at him. If he were to turn around, he know what he’ll see. Annoyance. Disappointment. Fear. He knows he should sit down, knows he should stay in his seat and wait, remember his place but he can’t. No when he can hear Sansa’s sobs as she runs down the corridors. So he steps away from the table and goes after her, and doesn’t stop as he hears Lord Stark call for him. 

  
  


Ghost finds her in the godswood, curled up between roots at the feet of the heart tree, crying into Lady’s fur. She looks so small there, like a doll, so fragile and precious. Jon takes a moment to look at her, wondering if he should go to her. Should he go and get Robb and Lady Catelyn? Should he go to her and comfort her? As if hearing his inner thoughts, Lady turns to him and stars running to her. She nudges his palm and he gently rubs the top of her head, and looks at Sansa. She’s looking at him too, and it’s her teary eyes that beckons him closer, and he knows he’ll never be able to refuse her anything. He walks up slowly to her, she doesn’t look up when he reaches her, just lets him sink down next to her and wrap his arms around her small frame. 

“I won’t do it, Jon. I won’t, I can’t!” Sansa cries in his chest. 

“It’s alright, Sansa, it’s alright ..” He rubs her back gently, hoping it somehow soothes part of her pain; if it can’t soothe his, it’s fine, as long as she’s alright. 

“How are you fine with this?” She asks, and she looks up from his chest and wipes her cheeks and nose. “I thought you-” 

“I do.” He shakes his head, looking down, ashamed of his own feelings. “But you know it can’t be. Not anymore. ” 

“Jon.” She says his name in that tone he’s heard only a couple of times before. He knows that whatever follows, she’ll mean it with her whole heart. She puts her small hands on each side of his face, and they’re warm, even though it’s cold, freezing really, but she’s always warm. “I am not going to marry the Prince.” 

He almost believes her, he does, because he wants to. He wants to believe her, wants to believe that there’s a way for them to avoid this whole situation. But right now, the possibilities seem so short, so out of reach. But he wants to believe her, he really does, so he nods, her hands still on him. If she says she won’t marry the prince, then she won’t. “ We’ll find a way,” he says, holding onto the flicker of hope burning in his chest, “we will.” 

“That’s my Jon.” She smiles and he can’t help but smile too. _Her Jon_. Yes, that’s him, he’s hers. And he promises that to her, silently, the heart tree and the old gods as his witnesses, pressing his forehead against hers. He’s hers and with the way she gently lets her fingers caress his cheeks, he knows she’s his too. 

**Sansa**

Sansa wishes she could disappear. She’s standing next to Robb, as her whole family and the whole castle is welcoming the Kind and his court. As King Robert embraces her father in a fraternal hug, she risks a glance behind her, towards Jon, to which he responds with a smile of his own. She smiles but Robb nudges her slightly and she looks back ahead of hers. She sees Robb glancing her from the corner of his eye, but then the King approaches him and then Robb shakes his hand. 

“And you.” King Robert stops in front of her. “ You must be the pretty one.” She supposes she should be flattered at the comment; complimented by a king, who else can say that they have? But then she looks at him and she sees a man who wants Jon dead, who bargained his life with a betrothal with her name on the end of it. She wants to go at his throat and yank his smirk away. But she remembers her manners, and only smiles, boxing her head slightly. TThe King continues his way towards Arya and Bran, and Sansa notices how he doesn’t look at Jon. Jon who’s not standing with them. Jon who should be with them, for he is a Stark too. 

Sansa looks at the rest of the King’s party. The Queen is walking towards her lady mother, and Sansa spots the Queen’s twin brother, Jaime Lannister, not far behind. People say that there is the best swordsman in the whole Seven Kingdoms. Right there in his golden armour and his Kingsguard’s white cloak, she almost thinks he might be indeed. He looks like a true knight, the kind that saves the princess in songs and Sansa already knows she’s going to hear Jeyne talk about him for the next day or two. She watches as her Father joins the King as they head to the crypts. 

“Where’s the Imp?” Arya asks. Sansa shushes her quickly, but the Queen’s already heard it. She goes to her brother and Sansa watches, and her eyes catch someone else’s. Someone who’s been watching her for a while. His blond hair, his clear eyes are telling enough and she knows it’s him. Joffrey Baratheon. The other end of the bargain for Jon’s life. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you start, I want you all to know *inhales deeply* I really really really really love Robb Stark. *cries* 
> 
> And again, I'm mixing both book!verse and show!verse to fit my vision, so Robb's character will mostly be based on the book. Remember, I'm doing a rewrite so I am going to tweak things along the way.   
> Thank you so much to anyone who has read the first chapter, I wasn't expecting so much and I really want you to know that it means the world to me and thank you to everyone who's commented already ! You guys are amazing! 
> 
> any mistakes are my own

**Jon**

Jon hates Prince Joffrey. He brings his third cup of ale to his lips, or is it his fourth? fifth? , he’s not sure, he doesn’t care, all he can focus is on Joffrey’s eyes on Sansa, how openly he’s staring at Sansa,  _ his Sansa _ . Jon’s blood boils in his veins, and he’s already bent a fork with rage. He feels Ghost nudge his hip for more chicken but Jon doesn’t turn to his direwolf. No, all he can see is Joffrey and Sansa entering the great Hall together, Sansa’s small hand in the crook of Joffrey’s elbow and the memory burns Jon. He’s so far away, he’s sitting at a random table, not at the table with the Starks and the Baratheons and the Lannisters, no, his presence would have insulted the King. Or so, Lady Catelyn says. Jon had scoffed when she had told him that, but now he agrees. If he had been sitting at the same table as Joffrey, he can’t promise the prince would still be alive by now. But then, maybe if he had been to be seated at the same table as them, maybe he would’ve been the one walking Sansa into the Great Hall, maybe it would’ve been his elbow she held on. Oh, how sweet that would have been. 

  
  


He sees Sansa shift in her seat and glance at the Prince, he sees how Joffrey smiles brighter at that and how Sansa whispers something in Jeyne’s ear and this is it. Jon rises from his seat, clicks his tongue for Ghost and storms out of the room. He doesn’t think he can stand another minute of this. He’s met by the cold breeze outside, but it does nothing to appease the fire in his chest. He crosses the courtyard and grabs one of the practice swords from the corner where he usually trains with Robb and Theon. His hand clenches around the pommel, turning his knuckles white before he starts striking at the straw figure. Once, twice, thrice, until he can’t count anymore and there are bits of straw falling from it and until he feels hot tears at the edge of his eyes. He doesn’t stop, imagining Joffrey in front of him and Jon moves fast and strikes hard each time. He imagines Joffrey bleeding from his blows, his skin turned blue with each hit, but Jon’s anger doesn’t lessen. The lingering question that’s been living inside of him for years rising to the surface again.  _ Why _ ? Why can’t he have what he wants? Why can’t he have what he deserves? Why can’t he be what he wants? He’s supposed to be a prince too, his father was a prince, Jon should be a prince too, and then he could have Sansa. If he were a prince, then maybe Jon could have asked for Sansa’s hand before King Robert. She would be better off with him, Jon thinks. Prince Joffrey doesn’t know her. He doesn’t know that her favourite treats are lemon cakes, he doesn’t know the different freckles on her nose and their different shades, he hasn’t counted them like Jon has, memorizing each of them, he doesn’t know how her hair behaves in the northern wind, he doesn’t know how beautiful Sansa looks in lilac but her best color still remains the stark grey. Prince Joffrey doesn’t know how she’ll bite her bottom lip when she’s sewing,or the two small lines appearing between her brows when she concentrates. Jon knows, he knows all of this, Jon doesn’t want Prince Joffrey to know Sansa like he does. He doesn’t want Joffrey to know that Sansa likes to sing but prefers to play the harp. Jon doesn’t want him to see how beautiful she looks in the morning light, at the breakfast table when sleep hasn’t left her completely. Jon doesn’t want Joffrey’s hands on her where his should be. Jon knows Sansa, Arya and Bran are supposed to go down in King’s Landing when they all leave. Just the thought of staying here, in this castle without Sansa breaks him, and knowing she’ll be miles away, promised to someone that doesn’t deserve her.. it’s a knife in his heart and a rope around his neck.

The sound of hooves and a voice he’s missed so much take him away from his thoughts.” Is he dead yet?” 

Jon turns around and a smile crosses his face. The man jumping off his horse is no stranger to him, not with his long face and dark hair. “ Uncle Benjen!” Dropping his sword, Jon runs to him and lets himself be embraced tightly by one of the few people that doesn’t hate him. 

“You got bigger! I rode all the day, I didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.” His uncle says once they part. “Why aren’t you at the feast with everyone else?” 

Jon lowers his eyes. “ The bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen didn’t feel so welcome.” 

Benjen Stark nods, understanding. “You’re always welcome on the wall. We don’t see difference between bastards and lords or prince amongst our ranks.” 

“So take me with you when you go back.” The words come out of his mouth before he can properly think of the consequences. He’s heard stories of the Night’s Watch as a child, with his uncle being First Ranger, and Jon always fantasized of being the kind that would go on adventures and see the Wall for himself. And maybe it’s the ale in his blood talking, maybe it’s his aching heart but right now, fighting wildlings beyond the wall seems more appealing than a life without Sansa. 

“Jon..” Benjen starts. “I don’t think you know what it means, what it truly means.” 

“There’s nothing for me here, uncle Benjen.”  _ Once Sansa leaves, there’ll be nothing left for me here _ , he thinks but the thought stays stuck on the back of his throat. 

“The Wall isn’t going anywhere. You’re so young, only sixteen,” Benjen protests, “you have a whole life ahead of you. You don’t understand what you’d be given up. We have no families, none of us will ever father sons-” 

“I don’t care about that.” Jon retorts. A lie. Once too many times, he’s dreamt of holding a son of his own, one with red hair and his grey eyes and the same freckles as Sansa. But that dream is dead now. That dream was born the day he saw Sansa walking up to him with the biggest smile and that’s when his heart fluttered for the first time, he had only been twelve. That dream took flight when Sansa hugged him when he had a nightmare about his parents. But the dream died before he could reach it, it died the day Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar Targaryen at the Battle of the Trident. It died again when Uncle Ned bargained Sansa’s future for his life. 

“You might, if you know what it meant.” Benjen tells him and Jon thinks there’s something lying in those words but his uncle shakes his head. “I better get inside, rescue your father from his guests.”

  
  


Jon watches his uncle leave, frozen in his spot, unable to feel the cold seeping through his bones. 

  
  


“Your uncle is in the Night’s Watch.” Jon turns to the voice, and spots a man, a small man lurking in the shadows. 

  
  


“What are you doing back there?” He calls. The man approaches him and Jon can now see his face, it’s a long face, topped with blonde hair with patches of black. It’s the eyes that strikes him, one is black and the other blue. Jon tries to remember if he’s ever met the man but can’t decide if he has. 

  
  


“Preparing to feast with your family.” The man stops not far from Jon, his thoughts far away from him. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall..” he says mostly to himself. 

  
  


“You’re Tyrion Lannister.” Jon says, the realization hitting him fighting off his ale-induced senses. “The Queen’s brother.” 

  
  


“My biggest accomplishment.” Tyrion admits with a sigh. “And you. You must be Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard.” 

  
  


At this, Jon clenches his fists and turns on his heels, not wanting to hear what’s next. It won’t be any different than what he’s already heard all his life.

  
  


“I’ve offended you. My apologies.” Tyrion Lannister’s voice follows him and Jon can hear he’s drunk too. “You are the bastard though?”

  
  


Jon turns back to him. “Rhaegar Targaryen was my father, yes.” 

“But his wife Elia Martell wasn’t your mother, may she rest in peace.” Tyrion says and Jon wants to ask how does someone who was left by her husband and saw her children brutally killed and was then killed herself by the Lannisters’ soldiers rest in peace? But again, he keeps that thought to himself. “And that makes you a bastard. Let me give you a piece of advice,  _ bastard _ , never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it’ll never get used to hurt you.”

Tyrion Lannister nods at him before turning away, and Jon wants to leave it, ignore his words and move on but his mouth moves faster than his brain. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?” He snaps and he’s a bit dizzy, from speaking so loud but he stands on his ground, not wanting to appear weak in front of a Lannister. 

“All dwarves are bastards in their father’s eyes.” Tyrion tells him and with a raise of the hand, turns and leaves Jon alone in the courtyard. 

Jon wants to say that his father is dead, his mother is dead, that his father wasn’t a good person, that he shouldn’t have left his first wife, shouldn’t have pushed aside the family he already had, should’ve been honourable. Jon wants to say that if his father had been alive, he wouldn’t be a bastard, no, he would a prince, a bastard prince, but a prince nonetheless. But no, the gods hadn’t been so kind to him and he is just an orphan bastard, with no chance of knowing what his father would have wanted him to be. With Ghost’s eyes on him, he picks up his discarded sword and goes back to hitting the poor straw puppet, but this time, instead of Joffrey it’s an image of the King he sees, and with each hit, Jon feels like he’s avenging his father, and his mother, and himself, for the King is the main instigator of all of his sorrows. He’s the one who killed his father, he’s the reason Sansa is betrothed to someone else, he’s the reason why Jon is out here nursing his hot wounds with a blade instead of enjoying the warmth of the feast inside. 

  
  


**Sansa**

She couldn’t stay there, couldn’t stay after Jon left the feast in a hurry. A part of her hates that she had noticed immediately, that she knew exactly when he had left the great hall, it was like the air around her had shifted, like the ground wasn’t as leveled with Jon gone, and all of sudden, she didn’t feel as safe. She certainly hadn’t felt safe with the prince’s eyes roaming over her all evening. She had excused herself after Arya threw the ball of meat at her, pretending that she felt embarrassed and slighted but really, she couldn’t have cared less tonight. She had left the great hall soon after Robb took Arya to bed and now she was unbraiding her hair, undoing the southern hairstyle her mother had done. A knock at her door startles her slightly but she clears her throat, standing up straighter. 

“Who is it?” 

The door opens and Robb’s head peak through the opening. “May I come in?” At the sight of her brother, Sansa’s shoulders relax and she nods. Robb closes the door behind him and walks towards her where she’s sitting. He grabs the little stool near her bed and settles on it. He starts taking another braid and undoing it as well. “You left the feast.” 

Sansa sighs, as she starts unbraiding her hair again.  _ Jon left first _ , she thinks but she stays quiet and says otherwise. “You left too.” 

  
  


“I went back to check on you but Jeyne said you went to your room.” He informs her, and she has to smile at her brother’s goodwill. He’s always been kind, always making sure to look out for her, even when she doesn’t need to. He’s always there, he’s her first hero, she looks up to him so much, her big brother and he cares for her as equally. Their lady mother told them stories of when Sansa had been born and Robb was barely 3, he would stay by her little crib as she slept, ‘to protect her’. And now, he could have stayed at the feast and enjoyed himself but no, he was here helping her with her hair. The thought soothes a heart a little. 

“ I felt tired. ” It’s not really a lie, she does feel tired, but she’s mostly sad and she supposes that makes her a little tired too. 

Robb just humms and continues unbraiding her hair and soon enough he’s running a wooden brush through her red waves. She finds it funny almost, how her brother, this sixteen year old boy who can yield a sword and always wins in fighting is running a brush through her hair with such care. She realises it might be the last time they get to do this, the last time she gets to be with him so close, just for the sake of having company. “Will you be able to visit us once we are in King’s Landing ?” her heart asks, making her voice waver.

Robb’s hand stills for a second. « I don’t know. » His voice is strong ,and if she didn’t know any better, she’d say it’s normal, but she knows her brother and she can hear the sadness in his tone. “There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. ”

“ But surely, you’ll be able to visit us?” Sansa pushes, and Robb stops brushing her hair altogether and she turns to him. “Please, Robb, say you’ll be able to visit us.” 

Robb sighs as he brushes a strand of her hair from her face with his finger. “Sansa, when Father leaves, I’ll be Lord of Winterfell, I’ll have to stay here to over see everything while Father is gone. I’ll have to care for the people in the castle, and the people of the North. Maybe I’ll be able to visit, but it won’t be for a while.” His tone is gentle, and she knows he means well but the words feel like chains around her neck. With a lump in her throat, she nods in understanding. 

“You’ll be a great Lord.” She tells him truthfully. “ I wish I could stay here to witness it.” 

Robb shakes his head. “So do I, but you have to go, and fulfill the promise Father made.” 

At this, Sansa snorts. “Please, don’t remind me. He kept looking at me tonight and I’ve never felt more uncomfortable in my whole life!” 

Robb smirks in amusement. “I thought you loved stories of young maids marrying the prince?” Sansa tilts her heard, giving her brother a look that he knows all too well, and judging from his laugh, he got the message. “Sorry, sorry, but hey.. Maybe you’ll learn to like him.” 

At this, Sansa groans. “There’s a higher chance of The Others returning than me liking him.” 

Robb laughs brightly now, and Sansa follows. “He does have very small eyes, they look like bees, and they’re so green, it can’t be human.” Robb starts and for a while, all they do is talk badly about Joffrey and they end up on Sansa’s bed, giggling like children and it must be hours like this before their lady mother comes in Sansa’s room. She sends Robb to bed with a disapproving look, and Robb winks at Sansa before he leaves and after she steps out of her gown and into her sleeping clothes, she finds herself falling asleep with a grin on her face and a lighter heart. 

  
  


**Robb**

“And obviously, you’ll have Maester Luwin and your mother to help you in overseeing the affairs of the castle and Wintertown.” Ned Stark tells his son. They’re in Ned’s solar, and Robb stands tall as he listens to his father explain to him how to rule the castle. “ People will come every day and expect you to have a solution, now I know you have a bit of temper, so do not make hasty decisions. Always seek counsel first, do you understand me?” 

Robb nods vigorously, comitting his father’s words to memory. Ned Stark looks up to him and stays quiet for a second. “By the Gods, I never thought it’d come so quick.” he sighs and rubs his temples in exhaustion and Robb watches him. 

“I’ll make you proud, Father. I promise you, I won’t bring shame or dishonor to our family.” He says and he means it then. He means it with all his heart and soul. 

Ned Stark rises from his seat at his desk, and walks towards his son. With a swift move, a hand on the back of his neck, he brings Robb towards him, and Robb closes his eyes, wanting to indulge for just a quick second, wanting to remember his father like this, warm and careful. “Just do what you think is right. And be brave.” Ned says against his ear. 

“What if I’m afraid?” Robb asks and he feels like a child then, he doesn’t feel like he’s sixteen and tall and strong, no, right now, he’s ten and he’s just seen his father behead someone for the first time and fear settles in his bones. 

“That’s the only time one can be brave.” Lord Stark breaks the embrace and Robb wants to whine, wants to indulge a bit more, but his father’s grey eyes steady him. “You are a Stark of Winterfell. I never wanted you to become Lord of this castle this young, I wish I had more time to teach you. But you can be brave. I know you can.” 

Robb nods, and he doesn’t even try to hide the tears in his eyes, he just nods and take in his father’s words. A knock at the door breaks the moment and only then does Robb dries his eyes. 

“Yes?” 

Robb turns to see Jory enter the solar. “Pardon, my lord, The King is asking if you’re ready for the hunt.” 

Ned sighs and puts a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I am. Come son, let’s get ready for this hunt.” 

Robb tries a smile but his heart still feels heavy in his chest. Regardless, he follows his father. On their way to the stables, he sees Jon who’s talking to the castle’s blacksmith. He heads there for a quick minute; he hadn’t seen much of Jon the last two days and if Robb is being honest, he misses his best friend. Jon had always felt more like a brother than a cousin to Robb, ever since they were children, they had been partners in everything, and Robb can’t imagine his family without picturing Jon there too. He finds a bit of comfort knowing Jon will still be there with him, once Father leaves. 

  
  


“Hey, we’re going for a hunt, are you coming?” Robb asks before he even reaches Jon. 

  
  


The dark haired boy looks up but lowers his eyes almost immediately, shaking his head. “I don’t feel like hunting.” Jon answers, but Robb sees in his stance that he’s lying. Robb knows Jon too well to not see it. He wants to tell him that it’s stupid, that he should come with them, that he deserves to come and hunt and be a part of their party too, that because he’s a bastard doesn’t mean he can’t have nice things. But Robb also knows Jon well enough to know that he won’t believe any of those words. 

“I could stay with you.” Robb suggests. “We could train or get the girls and have a little game?”

Jon finds Robb’s eyes and offers him a sad smile. “No, it’s alright. You go, I’ll be fine.” 

“You’re sure?” 

For a second, a quick second, Robb sees Jon wants to say no, wants to ask him to stay, but the feeling is gone before it has a chance to stay and Jon nods. “You go, Stark. Catch us some dinner, will you.” 

Robb gives him a smile. “Will do, Snow.” Jon’s smile is real and true, even though Robb knows he hates his surname, but Robb once told him that Snow is good, that even if he’s a Snow, he’s still one of them, he’s still part of the pack. And as he crosses the courtyard to join his father and uncle in the stables to ready the horses, he looks back at Jon and wishes he would appreciate this part of him more. But it’s not his battle, so he sighs and walks with his chin up, ready to learn from his father how to be a proper lord. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated ! and I changed my twitter @ it's now @rhaenysmateII ( it's capital i and not two Ls at the end ) and i'm @paperskiess on tumblr :) if you ever want to chat with me ( about jonsa, robb stark and how he deserved better, or just anything)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a filler and so will be the next chapters tbh but it's really to get the story going on and show you guys where I'm going with this. Remember, it's a rewrite, I'm not rewriting THE WHOLE SERIES but I am definitely tweaking things here and there. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's short. and sad. this story is mostly going to be sad at the beginning. But remember, a happy ending is on the way :) Anyway, love you guys, thank you for reading, stay safe and healthy!

**Jon**

He knocks on Sansa’s door lightly, still trying to gather the courage to face her. It is easier in his mind. In his head, he’s telling her and she understands his decision, she knows it’s what’s best for them. He hears her voice calling and opens the door slightly. “May I?” 

She turns to him and gods, she looks beautiful. Her hair isn’t yet braided, but he can see she was about to start on it. A smile appears on her lips and Jon’s heart sinks a little, knowing that once he tells her that smile is going to disappear. This is going to break her heart, and break his heart further all the same. “Hello, Jon.” 

“Hello.” That’s all he can manage. He takes a step in the room and closes the door behind him. He almost wants to keep it open, just so he can run when he’s done breaking Sansa’s heart. He stays by the door, the distance between them a half consolation, and doesn’t let his eyes fall on her, instead looking anywhere but at her. 

“You look nervous.” Sansa tells him. _ I am _ , he wants to say. 

“I need to talk to you.” He says and taking a deep breath in, he looks up. Sansa’s blue eyes are on him, waiting for him to speak, and Jon already hates himself for what he’s about to do. “I am going North with Uncle Benjen when he leaves.” 

Sansa lets out a little chuckle. “ Finally going to see the Wall hun?” Her smile doesn’t falter and Jon wishes it could be easier, wishes for once that she’d understand things simply. “You’ve always wanted to go and see it. Will you tell me how it is when you come back?” 

She’s looking at him with expecting eyes, sky coloured eyes who are asking him for so much, more than he can do right now, and it kills him to know he can’t do more. “I’m not coming back.” He whispers and it feels like a scream, it tears at his lungs and burns his throat. 

“What do you mean you’re not coming back?” Sansa asks and Jon sees it on her face, the slow understanding, how the words start to make sense and he sees it happening, her heart breaking all at once and he can only blame himself. 

“I’m taking the black.” The words are slow, as if time stands still in Sansa’s small room and the deafening silence that follows hurts more than anything in the world. 

“So you’re not going to fight?” The tears in her eyes feel like jabs at his throat and Jon hates that he has to do this, that he has to break her like this. “I thought you loved me.” 

Jon shakes his head. “ Of course I do, but .. It was never meant to be lived in the open, Sansa.” 

“What about finding a way, Jon? You said we’d find a way!” She rises from her chair and starts closing the distance between them, and Jon wants to move back, wants to be strong and stand his ground, but he knows he has to take her wrath. If she hates him, him leaving won’t hurt her as much, maybe then she’ll grow to like the Prince and forget Jon altogether. And even if that thought kills him, he’d rather have her happy in the blinding southern sun, than be miserable thinking of him. “So it was all lies. The songs, the promises, the gifts, everything.. You lied to me in front of the heart tree, knowing you were going to leave.”

She shakes her head and here it is, in her eyes, it arrives like a hidden dagger in the dark, like poison in a golden cup. The hatred. Her eyes are burning with rage. She turns into a wolf then, and for a second, Jon sees the similarities with Robb. No one would think about it twice, no one would think their ressemblance is more than physical, with their Tully looks inherited from their Lady Mother, but Jon knows better. He sees the temper, he sees the wolf’s blood boiling beneath the skin, he sees the fangs bearing, ready to bite. Jon has never been the recipient of this kind of wrath from Robb, let alone from Sansa, and it surprises him almost, but then he remembers he’s half wolf too. He’s half dragon and half wolf, and dragons have wings to fly away but wolves never cower from a fight. So he raises his chin a little higher and braces himself for the coming blows. 

“The songs are just songs, they never come true.” He says.

“I’m starting to see that.” Sansa says. She looks up at him in silence for a while, and he lets her, wants her to remind him like this so that when he dies, the memory of him won’t hurt her. She shakes her head at him, and the hatred disappears for a moment, and Jon wants to grasp it, begs it to stay but her eyes fill with concern and sincerity and he can’t. “Why are you doing this, Jon?” 

He wants to lie, wants to tell her that this is the only way, that she’s better off without him, that he doesn’t deserve her love, that she deserves better than a bastard, but he can’t bring himself to. “ Dying at the hands of wildlings or the beasts beyond the Wall seems like a happier end than being without you.” 

His façade crumbles and Sansa brings a hand to his cheek. “Don’t say that.” There are tears in her eyes, where there should be hate. “Please don’t say that. I couldn’t live in a world without you.” 

He grabs her hand from his cheek, not wanting to indulge more than he should - but her warmth doesn’t let him go and it always surprises him, how warm she always seems to be, like she’s more dragon than him. “You could be Queen someday. You’re going to have princes and princesses and be happy and you’ll forget about me before you know it.” 

“I could never forget about you, Jon.” 

Jon sighs, and kisses the inside of her palm. Just this. He needs this little gesture to remind himself that she’s the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to him. “And I won’t forget you. But a part of me has already died seeing you at the arm of the prince. I’m just speeding up the process.” 

“So you’re going on a suicide mission? Is that it? You’d rather die than fight for me.” Sansa is crying now and he lets go of her hand to wipe them. It’s all he can do to try to ease her pain. 

“I can’t fight something I know I’m going to lose.” The truth hurts as it crosses his lips, the bitter aftertaste lingers on his tongue and he can’t push it away. He watches as Sansa takes it in, how she takes a step back, and how the pain comes back to her. She only stares at him for a good minute, before wiping her nose and putting on a smile he’s seen her give only to people she doesn’t trust. 

“I wish you good fortune in your next endeavor, cousin. May the Gods always watch over you.” 

The words end him, and it takes everything in him to fall on his knees and beg for her forgiveness, for her love but no. He bows his head in silence for he doesn’t trust his voice to not falter. Brokenhearted, in love with her, and the only to blame, he opens the door and leaves his future alone and walks away. 

  
  


**Sansa**

  
  


She watches as the maester and the men take Bran’s small frame away to his chambers and Sansa’s heart tightens in her chest. She feels Aryan’s small hand tug at her sleeve. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” 

Sansa doesn’t know what to answer, she doesn’t know what to say that could potentially reassure Arya. She turns to her little sister and decides that a lie is better than the truth right now. “Of course, he’s a Stark, he’ll be alright. He’ll wake up soon.” 

Arya looks at her with her big grey eyes and Sansa knows she doesn’t buy the lie but it’s all she can come up with. Arya doesn’t comment and only nods. “Can we go back to your room for a bit?” 

Sansa is surprised at this, for Arya usually loathes spending time with Sansa alone. They used to be close, but most things Sansa loves, Arya doesn’t and as they grew up, it created quite the drift between them. Arya usually spends her time Jon, Sansa knows she favors Jon a lot, treats him like a true brother, and Jon never says no to Arya. This closeness used to bother Sansa at first, until Jon’s true feelings towards her came to life. But now... Shaking her head, Sansa pushes the heartache to the side. Nodding, she grabs Arya’s hand and they walk to her room, they settle on the bed, lying on their side, and for a while they don’t talk, they just stay there in silence. It’s oddly comforting to Sansa; after Jon’s visit in her room, she had wanted to go to Robb but he hadn’t been there, he was hunting with the King and Father and then, she had tried to find Jeyne and that’s when she found everyone gathered and Bran’s lifeless body being carried as their lady mother sobbed, following them. 

“I’m afraid, Sansa.” Arya says after a long moment, her voice small and trembling. “I don’t want to leave Winterfell.” 

“You always said you wanted to go and explore the world and be like Queen Nymeria or Visenya?” Sansa tries, she tries to think of something that could make Arya feel better at the prospect of leaving, but how does she do that when Sansa doesn’t want to leave herself? 

“Not like this.” Arya answers and she looks so much like Jon, Sansa thinks, with her lips pouting and her dark brown hair and grey eyes. They have the Stark look, and Sansa wonders how she’s going to be able to look at her sister without remembering what she’s lost. “Not when Bran is ..” 

Sansa grabs Arya’s hand in hers. “He’ll be fine. He has to be.” The words are mostly for herself but Arya nods and they don’t say anything else. They stay like this for a while and Sansa quietly prays for Bran to wake up. Maybe she’ll go to the godswood later and ask for a speedy recovery and Bran’s health. 

The door of her room opens suddenly and Sansa sits up, startled but it’s only Robb. He lets out a long breath when he sees them both here, and Sansa notices how his shoulders seem to fall a little bit in relief. “I’ve been looking for you two everywhere!” 

He walks to Sansa’s bed, and sits down next to Arya. His hand musses her hair slightly, and Sansa almost feels jealous. Right now, she wants the comfort too, she wants Robb to muss her hair too, she wants Robb to hug her and rub her back and take her broken heart and give her a new one. One that hasn’t known heartbreak, one that hasn’t known the face of Jon, one that doesn’t waver at the sound of Jon’s voice or the sight of his smile. “Any news from Bran?” Aryan asks. 

Robb shakes his head. “No, not yet.” He answers and Sansa sees the pain on her brother’s face, a little fear too, but she doesn’t say anything. “Do you mind if I talk to Sansa for a minute?” 

“Why?” Arya protests. “Why can’t I stay?” 

“I just need to talk to Sansa for a while, Arya, alright?” Robb says and he gives her that look he gives people when he wants to have his way. Sansa knows it, because she learned it from him. She remembers when they were children, how she would follow Robb everywhere lke a shadow and he’d never complain, there was a time where she was as wild as Arya is now, there was even a time where Sansa dreamed of being a knight too, just like Robb wanted to be, but their mother had told her that couldn’t be possible. She looked up to Robb so much, still does really. Part of her still wishes he could come with them to King’s Landing but no, he has to stay here, and that’s another crack in Sansa’s heart. 

Arya groans and gets up from the bed. “Ugh you two are never letting me do things with anyway, it’s always about the two of you!” 

She storms out of the room before Robb can speak again, and he lets out a sigh. “I swear, she’s the wildest out of us all.” He turns to Sansa and she finds concern in his eyes. “Uncle Benjen said Jon wants to go to the Wall and join the Night’s Watch.” 

At this, Sansa lets out a sigh, and closes his eyes. “I know. He told me earlier this morning.” 

Robb nods. “How do you feel?” 

She wants to lie, and say she’s fine, but it would be no use, Robb would see right through her. She shrugs slightly, and just shakes her head but just that small movement is enough to revive the pain she felt this morning when Jon had told her. A sob escapes her chest and she can’t stop the next one and before she knows it, she’s crying and the next second, Robb has his arms around her while she sobs into his chest. He doesn’t even speak, just lets her cry, her pain coming out in uneven waves. With one hand on her back rubbing softly, and the other one on the back of her neck, Robb shows her once more that there’s a reason why they’re the closest, why it’s always she goes to when she needs comforting. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright..” He whispers in her hair. “You’ll be alright..” 

Sansa can’t find it in her to answer, she wants to ask  _ how _ ? How can she be alright? Will she ever heal from this bone numbing pain? Sansa wipes her eyes and sits up a little straighter, away from his chest. “I’m sorry for crying. I’ve soaked your shirt.” 

“I don’t like that shirt anyway.” Robb simply answers. He wipes the remaining tears on her cheeks. “Don’t apologize for crying. Not to me, anyway.” 

Sansa tries a smile but it feels false, so she just looks at her older brother. They’re so similar, everyone says so in the castle, they have their mother’s looks, the red hair - though his are still quite brown but the vibrant red still come through even now in her dim-lit room - , the piercing blue eyes, the same freckles on the bridge of the nose. She knows their similarities run skin-deep too. They share the same fierceness, that wolf side that all Starks have, but she finds Robb’s and hers are more of the same. “I’m sorry, Sansa. I almost wish I didn’t like Jon as much. If it had been anyone else, I’d kill him.” 

“You’d do that for me?” She asks, and she genuinely wants to know. She had always imagined Robb as her hero, the knight to fix any trouble she might have. But for him to actually act up on them? 

“Of course.” He drops a kiss to her forehead. “You’re my baby sister. I’d kill anyone that dares to hurt you in any way.” 

At this, Sansa cries harder and Robb holds her all the same. Oh how she wishes she could stay here forever, in this embrace, protected, with the world quiet and the sound of her brother’s heart the only thing surrounding her senses. 

  
  


**Robb**

  
  


Rickon had stopped crying thankfully, but Robb is still struggling in putting him to bed. “Rickon, it’s getting late, sweet boy, you have to rest now.” He says, trying to convince his youngest brother to get under the wool covers. Shaggydog is lying on the bed, somehow showing more discipline than his young owner now. 

“I want Mommy!” Rickon whines and Robb sees it before it happens. The bottom lip quivering, the tears at the corners of his eyes, his small nose running, and then, it’s a flood, and Robb suddenly wants to cry too. This is too much, and he understands Rickon all too well, and he hates that he can’t do anything, hates that he has no control over the situation and that hurts more than he’d like to admit.

With a sigh and his fists clenched, forcing back his tears, he goes over to Rickon who’s crouching in a corner holding one of his little squishy dolls. Robb kneels in front of him. “Hey, come here.” Rickon scoots over to him and Robb gently takes his little hand in his. Rickon is only three, a baby in his eyes, and yet, right now, Robb feels just like him. Small, scared, clueless. But Rickon needs him. “Maybe I can stay with you for tonight? How would you like that? Maybe I can tell you a story and we can cuddle huh?” 

He tries to use simple words that Rickon can understand, but also he doesn’t want to treat him like a baby that’s kept away. Robb doesn’t want him to feel like that, and Robb has to care; right now, both of their parents are in Bran’s room and their father hasn’t come out since they’ve come back from the hunt, hadn’t come down to dinner. Robb hasn’t eaten either, he had made sure Rickon had dinner though, Sansa had helped with that thankfully and Jon had helped in putting Arya to bed. The whole dinner had been silent, quiet, no one daring to talk. Sansa had gone straight to bed after barely touching her food, not bothering with saying goodnight, and Robb promises himself he’ll check on her later but right now, he needs to focus on Rickon. Rickon and his big green eyes who are begging him to make this alright again. 

“So you want to hear a story?” Robb asks after a while, when Rickon doesn’t answer him. The small boy nods and Robb manages to take one of his hands and lead him to his bed. He helps Rickon under the wool blankets and then brings them up to his chin. He settles next to Rickon, laying his head down and allowing himself to breathe for a second. His younger brother shuffles closer to him, to his side and Robb let him lay his head on his chest. “So it’s the story of a pack of wolves. There are eight of them. And they live happily. Wolves are fierce and strong, the cold doesn’t bother them, they like the cold you know. And they have each other, they can face everything as long as they stay with each other. But other people are coming into their territory, trying to break the pack. But the wolves know, that if they leave, they’ll be vulnerable. Because you see, the thing is, one wolf alone is vulnerable but a pack is stronger. So the wolves pushed everyone away, and stayed together.” 

One look towards Rickon and he sees the little one has fallen asleep, suckling lightly on his thumb. With a light smile, he brushes away the wild curls from his forehead. At the end of the bed, Shaggydog sighs, his eyes closed and Robb sighs too. His mind goes to Bran, two rooms away, still unconscious, and Robb feels the fear coming back. He shuts his eyes, and brings Rickon closer to him.  _ We’re alright, we’ll be alright, we’ll be alright, we’ll be alright _ , he repeats the word like a song, as if repeating those words, will somehow make them true. And that’s how he falls asleep. Holding Rickon, the cold air coming in through the window, letting them know that it will be okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is per usual deeply appreciated !


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me. I already hate myself enough as it is. This chapter hurts. I can't pay for your therapy. Sorry.  
> Also this is short, because i'm double-updating :)

chapter 4 

**Sansa**

Sansa had thought it would be easy. She really thought that leaving Winterfell would be easy ; in the back of her mind, she had imagined that she would be leaving with her family, that they would be travelling and that she would see the whole North, that she would be riding across endless lands. She had imagined running across fields and forests like the maids in the songs, her brothers chasing her and they would be so happy. 

Oh, how they would have been so happy. 

Right now, all her brothers are in Winterfell, Jon has gone to The Wall with her heart, and tears are streaming down her face as Sansa watches King Robert leave the room. 

“He doesn’t mean Lady, does he?” She retorts, madness overtaking her. “Lady didn’t bite anyone, she’s good!” She yells, looking back at Queen Cersei, hoping that the Queen will listen to her. She tries to look at Joffrey but he’s holding his bandaged arm, looking at the floor. Like a coward. How Sansa wishes Lady had been the one to bite Joffrey - she almost wishes she could sink her own teeth in Joffrey’s throat right now. 

“Lady wasn’t there!” Arya yells too and Sansa is thankful for her right now. “You leave her alone!” 

Sansa grabs her Father’s sleeves, her blood running hot underneath her skin. “Father, please, don’t let them do it, please, please Father, it wasn’t Lady!” She begs him, hoping he’ll be able to fix it. 

Lord Stark calls the King before he can step out of the room completely. “ Is this your command?” Sansa sees the King turning around, his small eyes settling on his old friend. “ Your Grace?” Lord Stark adds, with a tone Sansa has never heard him use before. King Robert doesn’t bother with an answer, just turns around and leave, freeing himself from this conflict and Sansa clenches her fists, wanting nothing more than to run after him and punch him and find his blood on her knuckles. 

She hears the Queen call for Ser Illyn, but Lord Stark intervenes. “The wolf is of the north. She deserves better than a butcher.”

Sansa’s chest tightens and she can’t even hear the next words said. She feels dizzy, her head is spinning and she doesn’t even feel Jory’s hand on her back guiding her back to the room she shares with Arya. She doesn’t feel when she falls back on her small bed, nor does she hear when Arya repeatedly calls her name. She only feels cold, like she’s standing in a blizzard, like her whole body is being thrown under a frozen lake and she can’t get to the surface. Fear settles in her bones like an old disease, and she can’t breathe and there’s something at the back of her head and it goes down her neck lightly, like a hand petting her , but then it’s sudden and hard and painful and it takes all over her chest. She lets out a cry, screams and falls to the side of her bed and she can’t breathe, she can’t feel the furs on the bed, no, everything feels so cold. It’s hard and uneven and then it’s gone before it can settle but she grabs at her chest, almost expecting to find blood or something. Something that would explain that pain. She vaguely sees Arya coming to her, vaguely feels her small hand on her shoulder. 

“Sansa?” Her sister asks, a deep frown on her face, but Sansa doesn’t answer. She can’t find the strength. It’s like the life is taken away from her, she tries to look at Arya, tries to speak but all she sees is her Father’s eyes, looking down on her with a pained expression. The sobs come through like a torrent and there’s no stopping them and she barely feels Arya holding her as she cries. 

  
  


**Robb**

  
  


It had been weeks since his Father left, three weeks since Bran had been attacked, and a week and a half since his mother has left. His Father had told him that the work of a Lord is tiring and long, that it must be done but Robb hadn’t thought it would be so exhausting. Especially so when Tyrion Lannister stands before him, offering to help Bran with a custom saddle. Robb tries, he really tries, but he still thinks of the blood on his mother’s hands and mouth. He thinks of his sister promised to a silly prince. He thinks of Lady’s dead body, which arrived yesterday, and how Nymeria has left Arya, or so the messenger said. He thinks about his two sisters, defenseless, and their Father, forced to obey orders for a king that won’t listen. He tries but it’s hard. 

“The curtesy of Winterfell is yours and-” He says but Tyrion Lannister cuts him with a look full of disdain that Robb wishes he could slap off his face. 

“Don’t worry about me. There’s a brothel near by where I’ll find a bed, and that way we’ll both sleep easier.” 

Robb’s jaw clenches and how he wishes he could pin Tyrion Lannister down, hold a knife to his throat and ask him why is his family keen on destroying the Starks. But he doesn’t. Instead he just clenches his fists, and watches as Tyrion Lannister leaves the Great Hall. He lets his eyes fall on Bran, gently carried by Hodor and doesn’t miss the way his brother’s eyes shine, looking at the drawing the dwarf gave him. Maybe it’ll help. Maybe one of his siblings can be happy after all their hardships. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave a comment, or chat with me either on tumblr @ paperskiess or on twitter @ rhaenysmarteII :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So some people have been expressing how this isn't rewrite. I hope you are happy now.  
> *sigh* that sounded very aggressive I'm sorry. Again, I'd like to remind everyone that I'm basing my story on this video : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nc1nFlnSPIo THAT I INVITE YOU TO WATCH IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHERE I AM GOING WITH WITH THIS REWRITE. I am not going to write everything according to the video, I have my own ideas that I'll add in to the story. But please. Remember to be kind in the comments, I love this story.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter :)

**Sansa**

Sansa is barely finished writing the note for Robb that the Queen already grabs it from under her hands. 

“If your older brother has one ounce of intelligence, he’ll do as you say, and soon enough you’ll be with your family, little dove.” Cersei Lannister says. 

Sansa nods but she doesn’t believe the Queen. _No, Robb won’t do as he says,_ Sansa thinks. Robb is clever, yes, but Sansa knows better to expect blind obedience from him. Robb will never bend the knee so easily, just because Joffrey asks him to. She knows her brother’s temper all too well. Oh, how she wishes she could see her father right now, she just wants to ask him why he’d say this, what could push him to do so, but the Queen wouldn’t even allow her that.

They move her to a smaller room, away from the tower of the Hand, and more secluded, but close to the Queen’s quarters - part of Sansa knows she’s being watched, if only from the looks the maids give her when she declines her meals. She’s not hungry, she has a knot in her stomach that just won’t leave. Her room is small, smaller than the ones she shared with Arya, and her thought goes to her sister, whom has somehow vanished from the Red Keep. Sansa envies her so much. Part of her hopes Arya managed to escape and is on her way to Winterfell, back with their lady mother and Robb and Bran and Rickon. But part of her is afraid too; did they find Arya and are keeping her somewhere, in a dark dungeon to make Sansa behave? Did they take her too, like they took Jeyne? Sansa misses her sister more than ever right now, she misses her family, and Jon. Gods, how Sansa misses him. She had tried so hard to like Joffrey while on the road, so hard, she had tried to be nice, thinking that if she was nice then the love will come and grow within her, but with each look he gave her, it only reminded her that he was not Jon, and every time she would look at him, she’d only remember the day on the Kingsroad when Nymeria bit him and how cowardly he had let his mother give the order to kill Lady when he perfectly knew the truth. Somehow, in the back of her mind, she knew she’d never forget this. And now, he had her father locked up in a dungeon, he had taken Jeyne away, Sansa wonders what else they’ll take away from her next. 

  
  


**Robb**

  
  


Robb look as his bannermen start marching, as he rides next to them, Grey Wind at his side, the direwolf keeping a safe distance from the horse. Robb had never thought he’d leave the North, he had never imagined he’d ever leave Winterfell, or not like this. Not for war. Not with his family scattered like this. He thinks of the pack, _of his pack_ , and how they’re all vulnerable now. But they’ll be together again, he promises this to himself. 

Theon catches up with Robb on his own horse. “More men have answered the call, they’ll meet us once we set camp.” 

“Good.” Robb says, his eyes staring straight ahead. 

“Are you sure about this?” Theon asks. 

Robb turns to him. “They have my father. They have my sisters. If you think I’m going to sit back and wait for their claws to close in on my family, you’re wrong. I am not about to let lions corner me or my family into fear.” 

Theon looks back at him and nods in understanding, and Robb hopes he sees it. He hopes that Theon sees the wolf in him, sees the Stark in him. All these months being Lord of Winterfell hardened him, and now he’s leaving, to take back the family the Lannisters took from him. He digs his heels in his horse’s side and rides further along, and Grey Wind picks up his speed too. Maybe tonight, they’ll go hunting together. And soon enough, when all of this is over, they’ll all go hunting together. All of them. 

  
  


**Jon**

  
  


“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner..” Jon snaps at Sam as he puts the saddle on his horse. 

“Because you can’t go!” Samwell retorts. “They’ll..”

“Two days, Sam!” Jon turns back abruptly, and Sam takes a step back. Jon feels the fire in his bones and Sam must see it too for he doesn’t say another word. Jon doesn’t want Sam to be afraid of him, but right now he’s angry, he’s mad and he can’t afford to waste time. “Two days you’ve known Robb has gone to war against King Joffrey and you didn’t tell me!” 

“Because it wouldn’t have mattered, you’re a sworn brother now, you can’t-”

“It wouldn’t have mattered?!” Jon bites back, taking a step forward. “ Sam, they have my Uncle locked in dungeon, they want my cousin to bend the knee, they have-” Jon stops himself from saying _they have the woman I love_ , and holds his tongue. “Out of my way, Sam.” 

Sam shakes his head while Jon mounts on his horse’s back. “Move, Sam. I won’t say it again.” 

Sam tries to reason with him but Jon sees red and doesn’t listen. He kicks his heels into his horse and rides off into the dark night. Ghost follows him and together, they leave the Night’s Watch. Damn the Night’s Watch.They weren’t the elite brotherhood order Jon had imagined they were. A part of him thinks he should’ve known better. The stories and songs are just that, after all, just songs and stories. They’re all lies. Jon had said this much to Sansa and he hates how right he turned out to be. He had blindly thought he could find a new family there, but he had been met with reluctance and hatred for who he is.But it’s all over now, Jon has more important matters to think about, he has to go and find Robb and then they can find Uncle Ned and Sansa and Arya and bring them home. 

  
  
  
  


When he finds Robb’s camp, he quickly understands that he’s too late. He’s ridden for days, without any rest, his whole body aching, and he’s starving for a hot meal, but he didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to waste any more time. But still, he’s too late. He knows, once he gets to the camp and searches for Robb, only to find Theon, a sad look in his eyes, who nods towards the woods near by. That’s where he finds Robb, held by Lady Catelyn. 

“Robb..” His voice can’t be louder than a whisper, but still Robb hears him. He breaks away from his mother’s embrace and his red-rimmed eyes fall on Jon. Realization seems to hit him and Jon sees the tears still fresh on his face and he knows. 

Robb crosses the distance between them and Jon meets him halfway, his arms open for his cousin, no, his brother. “He’s gone..” Robb murmurs next to his ear, his voice laced with pain and Jon feels his own tears on his cheeks then and he burries his face in Robb’s neck, doesn’t care that his armor is hard and cold against his face. No, nothing matters other than this right now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeedback is always appreciated , chat with me on tumblr @paperskiess or twitter @rhaenysmarteII !


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's been reading this story so far, I can't tell you how much it means to me :)   
> The plot is starting to develop now, but just a heads up : i'm not about to rewrite every scene in the show or the book. that'd take me too much time and I don't want to spend two years on this. Regardless, I hope you enjoy what I am going to do with this story :)   
> I love you all, happy reading :)!  
> As always, any mistakes are my own and I apologize, english is not my first language.

**Robb**

_ King. _

King in the North. 

He can only stare as he watches his men pledge their swords to his cause and the words are dead in his throat. He wants to scream,  _ this isn’t what I want _ . He wants his family back, he wants his father, he wants to get his sisters back, he wants to ride back to Winterfell with them and tuck them into bed with a bowl of soup and a scary story and the knowledge that they’ll always be together. He doesn’t want a crown, could he bear its weight? Look what it did to King Robert. It killed the warrior and made him despicable and led him to his downfall. Is this new crown going to be his own downfall too? 

  
  


Later, he finds himself in his tent with Jon and his mother. He still can’t quite believe Jon has left the Night’s Watch to join his forces. When his tears had dried, he had asked  _ why _ , to which Jon had only said  _ you’re my family _ , and Robb had cried harder. 

“I can pardon you now.” He says, breaking the silence. Jon turns his eyes to him. Those Stark grey eyes that reminds Robb so much of his late father. “ Now that I’m King,” the word still feels heavy and strange on his tongue, “I can pardon you for deserting the Night’s Watch.” 

Jon stares at him, not looking away and Robb doesn’t let his eyes fall. “Does that mean I have to call you Your Grace now?” A smile erupts on his cousin’s face and Robb scoffs.

“I guess you do.” He says and it’s all so strange to him.  _ Your Grace _ . Never in his life Robb had thought he’d be called that. Lord of Winterfell, Lord Stark, those had felt strange enough, and now this. He doesn’t think there’ll ever be a day where he’ll get used to it. 

“You should still show support for Stannis. Or Renly.” His lady mother says from where she’s standing, in a far corner of the tent. She turns to him. “ Your men made you King and I am so proud of you, but it still isn’t enough to rescue your sisters, Robb.” 

“What will you have me do then?” Robb asks, and he doesn’t mean his voice to be this harsh but after all the battles and talks, he’s tired. He’s  _ so _ tired. “What can I possibly do to gain more men on my side?” His mother offers him a look he knows all too well. It’s the same one she gives him when she’s about to say something that he won’t like. “I’ve already told you I won’t go through with it.” 

“Robb, if you’d just consider-” 

“Won’t go through with what?” Jon asks. 

“She wants to send the Kingslayer back to King’s Landing in exchange for Sansa and Arya.” Robb answers and he sees the shift in Jon’s look at the mention of Sansa. A conversation for another time, he thinks. He turns back to his mother. “ I’m not about to bargain my sisters’s lives with one of a murderer.” He wants to say that he won’t put another price over Sansa’s head, King Robert had done that already and that only broke his family apart. 

“Then how are you going to win this war?” Jon questions. “The girls are in King’s Landing, we have Jaime Lannister, but that’s not enough. We don’t have the numbers. How are you going to win this?” There’s no superiority or confrontation in Jon’s voice, only genuine curiosity and Robb is grateful for it

Robb sighs, his throat dry. “If we’re talking just in numbers, Renly’s army would help. Stannis won’t side with us when he hears I was named King in the North. Father always said that Stannis was a pride man, and if the rumors are true, the years haven’t toned that pride down. He’ll want to be King of the Seven Kingdoms or nothing.”

“Renly will side with you.” Catelyn speaks up. “He’s kinder than Stannis. If you go to speak with him, he’ll listen.” 

Robb frowns slightly, he wants to ask can a Baratheon really be kind? But that’s not a question he can have an answer for right now. “I can’t leave my camp, not when the Kingslayer still sits in a cage. If I leave, Tywin Lannister will know and then ravens will come with a price over his son’s head. A price so high, none of my bannermen will be able to refuse. I’ve told you, I’m not about to gamble with my sisters’ lives so I can have more men on my side.” 

Catelyn sighs at her son. “But we  _ need _ the men, Robb.” 

Robb raises his chin. “And I can’t leave. But you can.” He meets his mother’s eyes, and he rises to cross the distance to reach her. “You go and speak to Renly as my envoy. No one will be able to negociate with him better than you.I can’t give up the North, nor my crown now, and I won’t settle for peace if I have to give that up. My men count on me.”  _ My sister count on me _ . “If Renly can find it in him to join us and accept these conditions, then we’ll be peaceful with the rest of the Westeros if he wins.” 

Lady Catelyn nods. “I will ride at first light.” Robb offers his mother a small smile. He wishes he could give her a true one, a brighter one, but right now, he can’t. Not when his sisters are trapped in a lion’s den, not when his father’s bone rest in a city full of traitors. Not when they’re all so far from home. 

He drops a kiss to her forehead, it occurs to him that he’s grown taller than her, all these months without her and somehow he’s now taller. It makes him wonder how much Bran and Rickon will grow before they can go back home, how much Arya and Sansa will have grown too. “We will all be together again soon, I promise.” He says to her, but the words are for him too, for his heart. 

She looks at him and there are tears in her eyes and the next words she says are ones he didn’t know he had wanted to hear so badly. “ You’re doing so well. Your Father would be so proud.” 

  
  


**Jon**

  
  


Jon watches as Lady Catelyn leaves the tent, his heart aching. Seeing this sweet moment between her and Robb only hurts, only reminds Jon how his mother isn’t here, how much he wishes she was alive so he could hug her too. He doesn’t know what it’s like, the embrace of a mother, someone who would do anything to protect him. Thanks to Robert Baratheon, Jon doesn’t know that feeling. Robb comes to sit back at the small table, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jon notices the slump in his shoulders, the new lines that appear on his face. So many months being Lord of Winterfell, dealing with everything, and now being King in the North.. Jon can’t even think what it must be like. Robb is barely seventeen, he’s gone through a nameday with half of his family away, Jon can’t even think how he must feel.

“She’s right, you know.” Jon tries. He braces his tone to be the most convincing he can. “He would be very proud of you.” 

Robb’s answer doesn’t wait. “But I don’t have the girls back. Bran and Rickon are all alone in Winterfell. We’re far from going home yet.” Robb’s voice breaks. “My father’s dead.” The tears fall before Jon can say anything else. “Why would he be proud when I am not protecting my family?” 

Jon gets up from his seat and kneels in front of Robb. “Hey hey, Robb, look at me.” He’s not used to this, comforting Robb, it’s not typically his job, it’s Sansa’s, and then again, there weren’t a lot of times when Robb needed comforting. For him, Robb is this confident, can’t possibly fail, hard working, good at everything person. There’s a reason why everyone likes him, he’s just perfect at everything he does. It’s just how he is, But Jon has comforted Arya before, and there were many times where Jon needed some comforting too and he only had himself. “You’re doing amazing. Do you hear me? Your father would be so proud because you’re doing everything you can to bring your family back together. He would be proud because you’re doing so much, your men named you King, Robb. King! That means they trust you to get your sister, to take all of us home. That’s why you father would be so proud. That’s why _ I _ am proud of you.” 

Robb stares into Jon’s eyes, a tear shedding on his face. “You’re good at this.” Robb says, his brows furrowing slightly. “The Night’s Watch hold a group support or something?” 

Jon lets out a chuckle. “No, not at all.” The Night’s Watch was a lot of things but supportive doesn’t rank high on the list. 

“How was it, by the way?” Robb asks as he dries his cheeks. “Not that I don’t want you here, but .. if you’ve sworn an oath..”

“It was awful, Robb.” Jon admits, with a sigh. He gets back to his chair, and pours himself another glass of wine. “I mean, not really. At first it really was awful. And cold. Gods, it was so cold. I made friends sure, and I did take the oath and I know I ought to lose my head for breaking it, but I .. I couldn’t stay. And I kept missing you all. Everywhere I’d look, it would just remind me that I had left my family, I had left Bran when I should have stayed and waited for him to wake up, I had left you when your father and the girls left, I had left Sansa..”. Jon lowers his eyes to the ground, unable to finish his thought. 

  
  


“You still love her, huh?” Robb asks him, and Jon’s heart beats a little faster at the question. He doesn’t think there’s a world where he stops loving Sansa, he doesn’t think there’s a world where he can be without her. 

“I do. More than I should.” Jon confesses. “When I heard of her betrothal to Joffrey, I really thought we could find a way to be together still, but then I saw him and .. it just reminded me of everything that I am not, everything that I can’t give her..” 

“You think she’s happy with him right now?” Robb retorts. “Jon, I knew the second I saw his prickly blonde face that he wouldn’t be good for her.” 

“ I just couldn’t take it. Just the idea of her with him.. I’d rather die.” 

“Well, now she’s all alone in King’s Landing, at the mercy of the King and his Queen Mother.We have no news of Arya, we don’t even know if she’s still in King’s Landing, and I just - ” Robb stops himself, the concern clear on his features.. His hand closes around his cup of wine and Jon wonders for a moment if he’s imagining Joffrey’s throat under his fingers. “I’ll kill them all, Jon. Every last one of them. Until there’s no more Lannisters in all of Westeros.” 

“We will.” Jon says, nodding and Robb’s blue eyes meet his. And a promise lingers there, between them. A promise of vengeance, no,  _ retribution _ . For all of those that the Lannisters killed and hurt and betrayed. They both sip their wine, not knowing that miles away, behind the red mountains, the same promise is being made. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is as always appreciated ! if you want to chat with me , feel free to do so on twitter @rhaenysmarteII or on tumblr @paperskiess


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE !! I hope you're all doing well and you're staying safe inside. This chapter was quite long to come because it took me so long to write, I just couldn't figure out how to articulate things , but here we are and I hope you do enjoy regardless! Also , a little clarification : Theon doesn't betray Robb in this. When planning this story, I always knew I didn't want Theon to go through that journey, even though it calls for character development ( in the most horrible way) , I don't feel comfortable writing that. So yeah. Right now, Bran and Rickon are safe in Winterfell, Theon is fighting in Robb's war, having gathered ships from his father's fleet. 
> 
> Jon and Sansa are going to reunite soon and we're going to meet new characters in a few chapters too! So I hope you're excited! Happy reading!

**Sansa**

  
  


She could feel Joffrey’s deadly stare as Tyrion offers his hand to her. She knows she’ll be probably be punished for it later, in some way or an other, but right now, she needs something good. She takes Tyrion’s hand and rises. Small gasps are heard around the Great Hall but Sansa stands nonetheless. She turns around, doesn’t bother to bow for Joffrey - if it was up to her, she’d run a sword through his throat, or use his own crossbow against him. 

“I apologize for my nephew’s behaviour.” Tyrion Lannister says to her as he walks her to the exit of the Great Hall, her appointed handmaids following them. Appointed by the Queen. “Tell me the truth, do you want an end to this engagement?” 

“I am loyal to King Joffrey, my one true love.” She answers immediately, a stoic expression and her tone flat. There’s no use in trying to be courteous or sound sincere now. Tyrion Lannister is no one to her, apart someone who just spared her further humiliation, but he’s a Lannister, she thinks. As long as she lives, she’ll never trust a Lannister. She wants to, she really wants to; whenever the Queen asks her to dine with her and Myrcella and Tommen, Sansa sees how sweet and kind they are. And then she wonders how two kind children like them can be born from someone as cruel and vile as the Queen. 

She doesn’t look back behind her as she walks back to her chambers. A handmaid takes off the white cloak off of her shoulders, and Sansa lets her take it away. “We’ll have to get you a new gown, my lady.” The young girl says. Sansa turns to her, and she has to admit, the girl looks almost pitiful. “We’ll tell the Queen right away-”

“No, it’s.. It’s fine, I’ll fix it.” Sansa says, grabbing the falling pieces of her gown and putting it back up on her body. She clears her throat, and forces a smile. “I’ll fix it. Queen Cersei is already so kind to me, it’ll only be kind of me to fix this gown.” 

Her handmaids all look at each other, and then nod. Sansa wonders if they know, if they know how much she hates the queen, how much she hates Joffrey, how much she hopes that Robb wins all of his battles and keeps defeating Tywin Lannister. She’ll take it, all the blows, all the threats, all the dirty glances and whispers as she walks by, she’ll take it. She’ll take it if it means that it gets her brother closer to rescueing her. 

  
  


Later, when she’s stepped into a new gown and has had healing balm put on her bruises and the sun has lowered in the sky, she finds herself in the godswood. It’s barely a godswood truly, a cut up trunk of a weirwood stree sits there, as if even the Gods left this awful place. But still, Sansa kneels and brings her hands together. Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath, praying for any God to hear her. She asks for her family’s safety, for Arya to be okay and safe and alright and alive. She asks for Jon’s safety too, even if they didn’t part in good ways. She prays he’s safe too, and that he’s not dead. She prays for Robb to win every battle, to win this war, for them, for their family, for her. She stays there even when she’s done too. Simply listening to the wind as it carries her prayers to a mindful ear. 

  
  


**Catelyn**

Catelyn wonders if the Gods don’t listen anymore, have they left the earth? Have the sounds of war drowned all her prayers? They were so close, she had been so close, Renly had said yes to Robb’s peace terms, they were so close to have it all. Maybe if everything had worked, she could already have her daughters back. But no. It seems as if the Gods have another plan for her and her family. 

Riding into Robb’s camp, she realizes how much progress he’s made. They’re far into the West now, almost right into Lannister’s territory. _ Good _ , she thinks, let them see how wolves fight back. 

She sees Jon first; from far away, he’s with two men, one looks in a lot of pain, whining and covered in dirt and blood, Jon is holding his hand and his shoulder while the third man is pouring something on a deep wound on his side. Jon meets her eyes over the man’s shoulders; he’s dirty and covered in blood too, and suddenly she’s taken all these years ago, when Ned brought him to Winterfell, only a babe, a small baby, with those big grey eyes, Lyanna’s son. A young boy that she had tried so hard to love, even if it meant that Sansa’s future had to be bargained with, a young boy who tried so hard to be the best he can be, the strongest he could be. And she sees it now, the way he looks at her, with an apology in his eye for not be able to properly greet her, and the way he lets the man holding his hand even it means it’ll hurt him. She nods at him, promising herself to get back to him later. First she needs to find Robb. 

She finds him, seeing off a group of men and she thinks he looks so grown, even though it’s only been a few weeks since she’s last seen him. He turns around and his all face lights up when his eyes fall on her. “Mother!” He’s quick to embrace her, and she finally feels a sense of purpose back in her. “I’ve missed you.” He says against her hair. 

They part and she craddles his face in her hand, trying to remember a time where he wasn’t dirty or looking so grown. “Come, we have much to talk about.” 

  
  


Later, she watches Robb sigh when she tells him about Renly. “By now, half of his men are probably on their way to join Stannis.” She says, her hands clasped together. She glances at Brienne, standing in the corner of the tent. She can still see the grief on the woman’s face, though she tries desperately hard to hide it. 

“We really needed them..” Robb sighs and he lets his head fall in his hands, and for a second, Catelyn wants to sob. Ned used to do the same thing when he’d get frustrated. 

“We’ll find other allies, Robb.” Catelyn rushes. “We’ll .. We’ll talk to other families. The Freys or the-”

“The Freys?” Robb exclaims. “You want me to make an alliance with a family everyone hates? People will laugh at me! We’ve already paid a fortune so they’d let us pass the Trident!” 

“But Robb-” 

She’s interrupted by Jon entering the tent, and now that he’s closer she can smell the dirt and blood on him too. He looks at her and then notices Brienne and he bows to her. “My Lady.” Then to her. “Lady Cateyn.” He turns to Robb. “The wounded men are being taken care of, but most of them are deeply injured. It might be a while before we can spring another attack on the Lannisters. But we did good. We did really good.” 

Robb nods, and raises his eyes to meet Jon’s. “Thanks Jon. You can sit and rest now. You’ve earned it.” 

Jon bows his head and goes to another corner of the tent where he pours himself a glass of water. Catelyn sighs, continueing her argument. “We need to reinforce your forces with men that will have your back, and not just northern men.” 

“Then who, Mother? Who hates the Lannisters more than us?” Robb exclaims, clearly frustrated. Catelyn sees it and she wishes she could go over to him and smooth the hard lines appearing on his forehead. She wishes she could take him in her arms and rock him and take all of his worries away. 

“The Martells might.” 

Catelyn turns towards Jon, brows furrowing. “The Martells.” 

Jon looks like a child caught doing something bad. “I .. It’s just a thought.” 

Catelyn stares at him for a moment, thinking. “No, no, actually, it might work. The Martells.. They never truly sided with the crown..They, they probably resent the Lannisters since there are all those rumors of the Mountain killing Elia and her children, and the Lannisters still feel slighted because the Mad King refused Cersei’s betrothal to Rhaegar, so it actually might work..” She says, mostly to herself. Her brain works faster and she tries really hard to remember the Martells’ history before that and who is currently ruling over Dorne. 

“We don’t know The Martells.” Robb intervenes more calmly. “I don’t think there’s ever been an alliance between House Stark and House Martell.”

“The North and Dorne are on the opposite side of Westeros, there was never a need for an alliance. But we might be able to strike one.. ” Catelyn says. She turns to Jon. “Good thinking.”

Jon lowers his eyes, almost in shame. Robb clears his throat. “But aren’t the Dornish proud ? Would they even accept such an alliance ? We don’t have anything to give them..”

Catelyn turned to him with a pointed look. “ We do..”

“Mother.. ” Robb tries.

“ A political marriage with the Martell wouldn’t be the worst thing ! ” Catelyn pushes. 

“ I will not be bargaining my hand in marriage !” Robb pushes back and he’s standing now, anger flowing through his body, clear as day. 

“ You’re a king, Robb. You’re going to have to bargain more than your hand to win this war. ” She tells him, and it hurts her just as it hurts him. 

Robb sighs, his fists clenched to his sides. “If we do this.. I’d have to go myself, I’d have to do this myself. I can’t risk to leave, not when Jaime Lannister is still our prisoner. ”

“ I will keep an eye on him. ” Jon says and Catelyn sees the look exchanged between the two boys. “ The Kingslayer won’t leave this camp.”

Robb runs his face with his hand, exhaustion clear on his features. “ Fine. I’ll have to talk to my council and make arrangements and prepare for the trip.” 

Catelyn nods, and she wishes she could do more, she wishes she could take Robb in her arms and tell him it’ll all be okay, but she can’t. Not when she doesn’t know herself. Not when she’s so unsure of everything.

  
  


She finds Jon later, in another tent, and he looks a little cleaner, a bit more put together. He’s looking at a map, seemingly deep in thought. He turns to her when she enters, and bows his head. “Lady Catelyn.” She gives him a small smile, and she feels nerves overwhelming her. “Can I help you?” Jon asks, and she wonders if he’s surprised to see her here. He probably is, she thinks, they’ve never had much of a relationship before. She had tried to be an aunt to him. But looking at him always reminded her of Sansa and her hand given away in marriage.

“I’ve come to say thank you. For your idea earlier. It was really a good one. ” She says. “How did you come up with it?” 

It takes Jon a long moment to answer. “ I was born there.” He explains, his voice small. “Uncle Ned said this is where my mother gave birth to me as it was the only place with no fights as the Dornish didn’t take part in Robert’s Rebellion. It makes sense when you think of it.” She raises an eyebrow at him, and he looks almost embarassed - and the youth is back, or at least, the little bit that war hasn’t managed to take away from him. “The Mad King still had Elia and her children in King’s Landing. If Dorne had shown support to Robert in his rebellion, then he probably would have killed them.” 

She nods understanding. “But the Mad Kind was killed and Elia and her children are dead anyway.” 

“Because of the Lannisters.” Jon replies dryly, and Catelyn sees a flash of anger there, something hidden deep inside of him. “Their reign of terror over people will end.” 

Catelyn looks at him, really looks, she tries to remember when he was little, tries to remember his face, but she can’t and she feels awful. He’s here, fighting in a war that doesn’t concern him directly and still, he’s fighting with all he has. “Why are you here, Jon?” She asks before she can stop herself. “It’s not your war.” 

“But it is.” He answers, and he leans back against the table, his hand bracing against its edge. His eyes are looking at her and for a second, she can’t help but see a younger Ned. “It became my war when Jaime Lannister pushed Bran out of the window. It became my war when they wrongly accused my uncle of treason and chopped his head off.” And then, lower. “ It became my war when Sansa’s hand was given in exchange for my life.” 

Catelyn’s heart goes out to him, and she wishes she could go over to him and hug him to comfort him. But they’re not there yet. “You really love her, don’t you?” 

Jon’s eyes are full of sincerity when he answers. “ I know I don’t deserve her. I know I am not exactly who you want for a son in law. But.. for a while, we really thought we could be together, that we could be happy together. I would’ve done anything to make her happy.” 

Jon’s words linger in the air, in the silence, floating around them. Something in Catelyn stirs and she feels the tears burning her eyes before they roll down her cheeks. “Sometimes, you remind me of Ned so much..” She sobs before she turns on her heels, running out of the tent, letting her feet take her far away from Jon, from the memory of Ned, of her dead husband. She only lets herself cry openly once she’s reached the woods, once she’s out of earshot, only then does she let another sob escape from her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter I know and I can't tell you when the next one will come. But feel free to let me know what you think ! I love you guys :) <3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI!!! I actually didn't expect to update so soon, but I just felt really good about this chapter so I am posting it :)   
> A lot of you have been asking when are we going to see the Martells and well ... enjoy !

**Jon**

  
  


Banefort is surprisingly quiet. Jon has grown so used to the sounds of swords clashing, men screaming, and the sight of blood and mud and dirt everywhere that he has to stop for a minute and look at the vast sea in front of him once they reach the docks. The salty fragrance, the brightness of the sun reflecting on the clear water, the men loading ships with smiles and grins on their face. Jon can’t help but stare at it all, wonder in his eyes. 

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jon doesn’t turn around to Theon, his friend reaches his side and sighs next to him. “Almost makes me nostalgic for home.” 

“Don’t you miss it?” Jon is surprised of his question but it comes out before he can think. 

Theon shrugs next to him, Jon doesn’t see it but he feels the movement of Theon’s shoulders next to his. “Home is Winterfell now. That’s what I miss.” 

Jon wants to agree, but when he thinks of Winterfell, he thinks of the softness of Sansa’s smile on him, he thinks of Arya and her messy hair that he loves to mess even more. He thinks of horse rides with Bran and running around after baby Rickon. He thinks of Robb’s laugh in the forest as he runs far ahead of them. He thinks of warm meals in the Great Hall with Uncle Ned’s protective smile, watching all of them. But the thought seems so far away now, so out of reach.. He doesn’t need to say he misses home, it’s written all over his face. 

“We’ll be home soon.” Jon says, not even pretending that those words are for Theon. No, they both know they’re for him. They don’t work though, he knows it, but he believes they will. At some point, they will be true. 

“Come on. Our King is about to leave.” Theon says, nudging Jon’s shoulders and Jon turns towards the docks, and indeed, he spots Robb, Lady Catelyn and a dutiful Grey Wind walking towards the Greyjoy ship that will take Robb to Dorne. 

  
  


They reach Robb as he’s about to board the ship. He’s embracing his mother and Jon and Theon lower their eyes to let them have this moment. Ghost and Grey wind are sitting next to each other, and Jon wonders if Ghost feels as sad as he does at the thought of living his brother.

“Be safe.” Catelyn says, craddling Robb’s face in her hand. Robb takes her hands in his and drops a kiss to them. 

“I will. I will make this work. I promise.” Robb says, and Jon sees the determination in his eyes. Robb turns to Theon and him, his hands fidgeting at his sides. 

“This is harder than the first time we did this.” He whispers. 

Jon feels Theon tensing next to him. “I’m not hugging you again.” 

Robb rolls his eyes but there’s a smile breaking on his lips and it eases the tension. Theon still accepts Robb’s hug, and if Jon knew any better, he’d say Theon had a few tears welling up in his eyes, but he looks away, pretending he doesn’t see. When Robb reaches him, Jon remembers when he left for the Night’s Watch, how young they had been, how sad he had been, how delusional he had been about it all. And now, he’s standing in front of Robb, his cousin, his King, and his heart swells in his chest. Robb’s eyes are wet, Jon sees it and he’s probably no better, and there’s something at the edge of his lips, a request, a simple one, but he can’t bring himself to say it. There’s a confession too, but Jon stays quiet. Funny how they’d both kill for each other and still can’t bring themselves to say simple truths. He just lets Robb hug him, tight, and Jon’s hands press him closer, and he makes sure to remember it, the earthy scent of Robb’s hair, the hardness of the leather against him, and the brightness of his eyes. 

“I’ll win every battle for you while you’re gone.” Jon manages to say next to Robb’s ear, almost choking on his words. 

Robb breaks the hug to look at him. His gloved hand comes to settle on Jon’s cheeks, and it feels like they’re children again, and Robb is making sure Jon is alright after a bad fall. “I know you will.” His cousin says, and the words haunt Jon, long after the ship has sailed, and Robb is only a blurry silhouette on the leaving ship. 

“By the Gods, I hope it’ll work.” Lady Catelyn says, standing next to the two young men she helped raising. “It has to. Otherwise, we’ll all be doomed.” 

Neither Jon or Theon answer but they know she’s right. It has to work, Jon knows it has to, if it doesn’t.. then this war will be lost and they’ll never get Sansa and Arya back, they’ll never go home again. It has to work, for his sake, he’s the one who proposed the idea in the first place, and if it falls through.. 

With a sigh, he turns away from the docks and walks back to the horses, and the men guarding them, his heart heavy with the words left unsaid. 

_ Be safe.  _

_ I’ll miss you.  _

_ Take care of yourself.  _

_ Please do come back.  _

  
  
  


**Rhaenys**

  
  


Rhaenys watches as Nate gathers all the parchments in front of her uncle Doran. “This is all there was, my Prince.” The young servant bows and takes a step back. Rhaenys smiles sweetly at Nate, before the servant steps out of the solar, and then turns back to her uncle. He proceeds to break the seal on each messages and reads them in silence. Rhaenys watches, trying desperately to wait until her uncle is finished but patience has never been her strongest suit. She had been so happy, staying in Starfall, bathing in the sea almost every day, getting to sail to land every now and then and learning the art of the herbs and oils. Her uncle Oberyn had accompanied her and together they had started her fighting lessons too. Though she isn’t as skilled as his bastards daughters, Oberyn had said that she had potential. Rhaenys didn’t care much, she knew her strength relied in her brain and its quickness, thanks to her cousin Arianne who had taught her everything. 

“Uncle, why am I here?” Rhaenys asks, unable to stop herself. “I thought you said the matter was urgent.” 

Doren lifts his gaze to her, and for a second, stares at her plainly. He clears his throat. “We received a raven about a fortnite ago. The old Spider asked to know how our precious winged snake fares.” 

Rhaenys’s jaw clenches at the mention of the name. Blurry memories come to the surface again. King’s Landing after the dark. A blood stained white cloak and a dash of metal in a dark room. A hard grip on her back as the man carries her. The boat sailing away as she sobs into a corner. 

“Well, as you can see, I’m doing well. No need to call me back from Starfall to make sure of that.” She answers quite harshly. 

“The man saved you, Rhaen’ ” Doran says and his voice is the calm voice Rhaenys has grown used to hear as a child growing up within the walls of this castle. She loves her uncle, she really does, she loves them all, she owes them so much. She’d never be able to repay everything they’ve done for her. 

She purses her lips and closes her eyes, trying to find some sympathy for the man who saved her life. “I know. ” But he hadn’t had time to get to Aegon, or Mama. And now they’re dead, at the hands of a dog. Rhaenys swallows back her thoughts and puts on a brave face. 

“But that’s not all.” Doran says, and he grabs another message, not from the new pile Nate brought in. Rhaenys frows as he hands it to her. She takes it and reads the words carefully. She looks at her uncle, in confusion.

“I really don’t see how this concerns me, Uncle.” She says. 

“House Stark is one of the most respectful house in all of Westeros. They’ve entered in a war against King Joffrey after he beheaded Ned Stark. Ned Stark was a great man, a fine swordsman, he’s the one who brought back Dawn to House Dayne. He rescued your half-brother when Robert Baratheon asked for the heads of every living Targaryens.” 

Rhaenys fidgets in her seat. “ So what?” She snaps, growing more impatient, but Doran doesn’t fail to remain calm and poised. 

“ _ So _ , Princess Myrcella has just come into our care, and she’s a Lannister. Robb Stark’s war is against the Lannisters. When he arrives here and he finds Princess Myrcella here in our home, what do you think he’ll do?” Doran asks. 

Rhaenys thinks. “He’ll want her dead.” She frowns. “ But words has it that they already have the Kingslayer. He’s more valuable than Myrcella. Why would he care about a ten year old girl?” 

Doran sighs. “I’m going to tell you something, Rhaen’. Something I’ve been thinking about ever since the raven arrived with the message. But I need to know that you will keep this a secret. A secret between you and me. You’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?” 

Rhaenys feels trapped, cornered. As a child, Doran had coddled her a little, and her affection for her uncle had grown into the love she wishes she would have given her late father. Doran had been the one to take care of her, reading her bed time stories at times and supervising her studies. He had done so much for her. With a racing heart, she nods quietly. 

“Robb Stark wants an alliance, otherwise he wouldn’t come this far south. No northern man has ever come this far south since Ned Stark slew Arthur Dayne at the Tower of Joy. Moons ago, I would have found an alliance with the Starks ridiculous, but now, it seems fitting. Robb Stark says he’s ready to marry Arianne, but we both know how she’ll feel at that prospect.” They exchange a smirk. “So I was thinking.. You marry him.” 

Rhaenys stays silent for a moment, letting the words sink in. She stares at her uncle, trying to find a hint to let her know that it’s all a joke. But Doran keeps his composure and she tenses. “You want to marry me to a stranger?” She finally says, her brain foggy with confusion. She likes the prospect even less than her cousin Arianne would. 

“I won’t force you.” Doran reassures her and she sees in his gaze that he means it. “But think about it. The Lannisters are the ones behind the death of your mother and young brother, may they rest in peace. The Lannisters killed Ned Stark. Robb Stark has Jaime Lannister, and we hold Myrcella. This means, technically, we both hold something of value to the Lannisters. Tyrion Lannister think we’ll send men for the war against the Starks but if we play this right, we could avenge your mother and brother and Robb Stark’s father. The Dornish houses are lieged to us, so they’ll do as we told them to. If the South and North ally together, the Lannisters will pay for all of their sins.” 

Rhaenys watches her uncle, wonders how much time does it require to come up with such a plan, wonders if the cunning glint his eyes had always been there. She thinks about it, the match, really thinks about it. She supposes a political marriage would make sense, but she doesn’t know Robb Stark. Back in Starfall, she had heard of the war but she doesn’t know him. Who tells her that he’s good? Winning battles doesn’t make him gentle or kind or a good person. After everything she’s been through, could she handle an awful man? 

“But that would mean.. I won’t be hiding anymore.” She says, meeting her uncle’s eyes. “ How can you be so sure Robb Stark would keep me safe?”  _ How can I be ? _ she thinks but keeps the thought to herself. 

“If he is anything like his father, no harm will ever come to you.” Doran answers, and he grabs a cup and starts pouring wine. He offers it to her and Rhaenys takes it but doesn’t sip at the wine.

“What do you know of him?” She questions as her uncle pours himself a cup. 

Her uncle smiles and he spends the rest of the hour telling her what he’s heard of Robb Stark, and with every word, Rhaenys’ nerves grow and the knots in her stomach grow tighter. In the back of her head, she wonders if this Robb Stark is even real, the more her uncle speaks of him. She guesses she’ll find out soon enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOO!!! WHO IS EXCITED??? I KNOW I AM !!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ( as well as the next one that is coming in the next couple of days ) has been in my head ever since I started this story. It's quite fluffy and I almost deleted half of it but I didn't in the end. I hope you like it as much as I do. As always, any mistakes is my own doing and I am sorry, english is not my first language.

**Robb**

Robb will lie if he said he wasn’t sick of the sea. One month on the open sea is too much for him and he’s really glad to be able to go back on land. He has to leave the ship on a smaller boat to reach Sunspear, but at least he’s actually going to be feeling some solid ground underneath his feet. He looks up at the palace, standing high on the cliff, thinking that his future wife is up there, standing in one room, ready to give away her name for his war. He starts to wonder about Arianne Martell; it’s all he’s been doing on the journey really. He looks back at the Greyjoy ship, wondering if he can make it back if he jumped off the small boat now and started swimming. He takes too much time to think because soon enough, Great Jon Umber nods towards the shore. 

“Look, your in laws.” It’s meant as a joke, to ease the tension in the air, but Robb doesn’t feel less nervous. He turns back to look at Dorne, and indeed, he sees two figures have appeared on the private shore. A woman and a man. As they get closer, he tries to stand taller. But he feels like a weight is sitting on his shoulders. He thinks of his family, of his sisters back in King’s Landing, of his two little brothers back home, in Winterfell, so far away from him. He can do this, he tells himself. He has to. 

He walks up to the small stone steps and gives his best smile to his hosts. The man steps towards him, he’s tall, Robb realizes, and he looks like he spends most of his days training. He sees a toned chest under the deep plunging neck line of the man’s orange open tunic. He has dark brown eyes, a gaze Robb doesn’t like being under, and the smile he offers Robb as he extends his hand seems like a cunning one. Still, Robb takes his hand and shakes it. 

“Lord Stark!” Robb notes how he doesn’t say Your Grace. Good, at least they’re not going to pretend to yield their allegiance immediately, Robb sees it in the way the man’s grip on his hand. “Oberyn Martell.” The man introduces himself. “ We are very happy to welcome you in Dorne, in our humble home. On behalf of House Martell, I present my sincere condolences. We were all very sorry for your loss.” 

Robb hears Jon Umber snorting in his back, but he still keeps his smile on his face. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn.” He turns to the woman standing a couple of steps behind her, and bows his head. “Princess Arianne, I suppose.” 

She smiles and he has to admit, she’s quite beautiful, her olive skin glows in the sunlight, her brown eyes are set on him like a hawk watching a prey. He’s not sure he likes it, not sure he likes being in a place full of people famous for their cunning ways. But he’s at war, he thinks, his sisters are prisoners of cunning people, his father was executed by cunning people. If he wants to win this war, he needs to be cunning too. 

Arianne Martell takes a step towards him and extends her hand for him to kiss. He does so, barely letting his lips graze her skin and she raises an eyebrow at him and he sees the hint of a smirk but it turns into a full one soon enough. “ We are very glad that you are here, Your Grace.” She says, her voice smooth like honey. Her dark curly hair are falling in long waves down her torso. Her dress is letting nothing for the imagination, seeming to have been made specifically on her body, and Robb wonders if she’d still dress like this in the North, when the temperatures drop so much that no amount of layers can help the freezing cold settling in your bones.

It’s his turn to raise an eyebrow at her words; maybe she’s more keen to respect titles than her uncle. He smiles at her and bows his head again. “Your father was very kind to accept our request in these troubling times.” 

“Don’t think it’s all for your merit.” Oberyn speaks up. “But let’s not talk about politics until we all have a drink in our hands.” He jokes and Robb has to laugh, not a real one, no, his throat is dry like he’s swallowed sand but he tries to appear as genuine as he can. He has to, for the sake of his family he has to. 

  
  
  


He had hear rumors of the palace of Sunspear but he had never truly let himself imagined it; and standing in the middle of it he doesn’t think his imagination could have done it justice. The high ceilings seems to go on and on and every room seems to be open, the whole foundation relying on walls that curved into each other. Light seems to pour through the palace from everywhere and he’s amazed at every turn he takes. 

Oberyn and Arianne had said that he would meet Prince Doran and the rest of the family later, and that he should rest for now and that he was free to wander around the palace and explore. Robb had taken the offer gratefully, feeling the need to clean himself and change out of his clothes. The climate was definitely not what he is used to, and even now his tunic sticks to his sweaty skin as he wanders around the palace, taking it all in. So many different fragrances hits him all at once, from every corner, and he closes his eyes for a few seconds. He tries to identify them but they’re so foreign, nothing like he’s used to. He’s so focused, he doesn’t realize that he is walking backwards until he bumps into someone. He jolts forward after the collision and turns around quickly. In front of him stands a girl, probably his age, with a light tan and very light purple eyes. He had never seen purple eyes before. Her dark brown hair is tucked behind her in what appears to be a long braid, and Robb has to suppress a gasp when her eyes meet his. He doesn’t think he’s seen anyone as beautiful as the girl standing there. 

“My apologies, my lady.” He blurts out, remembering his manners. He lowers his eyes and for a second, he mentally curses himself for openly staring at her like this. He’s already promised to another woman, he can’t be finding other women beautiful, not anymore. He clears his throat, trying to regain some of his composure, he’s a King, he’s won battles, he’s killed people. He can talk to a pretty girl. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” 

“I’m alright, thank you sir..” Her voice is sweet and her eyes seem to study him, like she’s trying to remember him. 

“I’m Robb Stark.” He stands a bit taller at this. 

Something crosses the girl’s face in less than a second, almost recognition, and Robb wonders what kind of thing they say of him in Dorne for the very first time since he’s arrived. 

“Oh.. I should be the one apologizing to you. You’re a king..” She trails off, as if she wants to say something more but stops herself before she can. Robb desperately wants to hear it but he shakes his head. 

“Please, it’s all my fault. I am just glad I didn’t hurt you, miss..” 

The girl seems to hesitate for a second, before she whispers. “Rain.” 

_Rain_. 

Robb can’t think of another time he’s hear someone named Rain, but he’s glad she’s the first one. He smiles at her, hoping to look as genuine as he can when he speaks again. “It’s a very beautiful name, Lady Rain.” 

She smiles back and bows her head too. “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

She steps to the side to walk past him and Robb can’t help but stare at her as she does walk away from him. For the first time he notices her cream dress, more modest than Princess Arianne’s dress, and less skin-showing but still wonderful. He wants to feel caught, he wants to feel bad for staring at her this obviously, but he can’t stop. And then she looks back at him before turning around the corner, and the smile that appears on her lips is worth the inner scolding he’ll give himself later. 

  
  


**Rhaenys**

  
  


“You’ll be happy I think, he’s handsome enough and doesn’t seem to be awful so that’s good.” Arianne tells her as she helps Rhaenys into her gown. Doran has planned it all, he’ll let Robb know that he’s to marry Rhaenys tonight, and not Arianne, at the feast in his honor, and that’s when he’ll introduce them. Little does he know that they’ve already met. Sort of. Rhaenys hasn’t told anyone that she has bumped into Robb Stark earlier in the afternoon. Somehow, she still can’t believe it herself. Arianne is right, he is handome, but not in the Dornish way. No, Robb’s looks are northern, that much she can tell. His dark red hair, the scruff on his face, the freckles on the bridge of his nose, the hard jaw, and those eyes, those deep blue eyes.. They still haunt her after so long. And the thought of seeing them again tonight leaves her a little bit breathless.

Arianne hands her a small flask, filled with a clear liquid. “Pour this on your wrist and neck, and he’ll never leave your side.” 

“I am not using tricks to get him to like me, Ari’.” Rhaenys said, placing the flask on her little desk near her looking glass. She doesn’t want to use potions and special mixtures to make Robb Stark fall for her. A small voice inside her tells her she doesn’t need to, but another tells her she should keep the flask. Robb thinks he’s going to be engaged to Arianne after all, who’s to say he’ll accept this change of arrangement from Doran. Who’s to say he’ll accept her.. Her father abducted his aunt after all, and his father was in an open rebellion against her family. What would he love a Targaryen?

Arianne shrugs before starting on her hair. Rhaenys lets her do it, she’s too nervous to protest. Arianne knows best on how to appear pretty anyway. “I’m sad you’ll have to leave though.” Arianne speaks up as she’s starting on a third small braid. 

“He hasn’t said yes.” Rhaenys says, letting her nerves get the best of her. “He might prefer you to me.” 

“He’d be a fool if he does. You’re the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. You’re the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” 

“Arianne.” Rhaenys warns, shooting a glare at her cousin through the looking glass. “You know that’s not right.” 

“But it’s true. Why can’t a girl be the heir too?” Arianne retorts, not letting it go. “You should sit on the throne..” 

“I have no interest in ruling.” Rhaenys says, and it’s true, she doesn’t want to rule, doesn’t care for it. She gets politics, Doran had taught her enough that she understands it quite well. But she also knows how politics change people. She doesn’t want it to change her. She wants to remain kind and free spirited and gentle and wild.

“Too bad. We could use someone kind like you on the throne.” Arianne says and Rhaenys wants to object but she remains quiet while Arianne continues braiding her hair. Her mother was kind too, and she got left by her husband, by the love of her life. What’s the point of being kind when people aren’t kind in return? 

  
  
  


She watches from afar, hidden on a high balcony, looking over the crowded garden. Doran loves hosting feasts in the garden, he always says it makes for interesting conversation and is less formal. She supposes he’s right, there is a certain ease in the way the guests seem to walk and talk, helping themselves to the delicacies placed on the many tables scattered around the green scenery. She should be down there already, but she stays put. She watches as Robb and a tall large man walk to the feast. The tunic he wears is different than the ones he was wearing earlier, this one is of a light grey and something catches the last ray of sunlight, shining on his chest. There’s a dark blue cape around his shoulders, matching his pants and she has to admit it to herself. He _is_ handsome indeed, she surely could do worse for a husband. But still, the knot in her stomach lingers. 

She notices her uncle Doran raising his hand, and the light music that was playing stops at once. Her cue. Quickly, she leaves the balcony and proceeds to makes her way downstairs. Once she reaches the entrance of the garden, she stays back, in the shadows, listening to her uncle. 

“.. and we are so glad that an alliance between House Stark and House Martell could be made. However,” Doran turns to Robb and Rhaenys notices how Robb’s shoulders tense, even from where she is, “it’s not my daughter you will be marrying to secure this alliance.” 

Doran turns around completely, towards her, Rhaenys doesn’t even want to know how he knows where she’s standing, it’s from one of the many secrets her uncle holds. He extends his hand in her direction, and she walks towards him, her steps slow and poised, trying to contain her nerves and not appear like she’s trembling like a leaf under the sea wind. She reaches Doran and his hand comes protectively to wrap itself around her shoulders. 

“Your Grace, I present to you Princess Rhaenys of House Targaryen, daughter of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and my sister Elia.” 

She can hear everyone present holding their breath. She can’t look up, she’s frozen on the ground, and she has stopped breathing herself, ready to hear Robb Stark refuse the proposal and probably hand her over to the Lannisters in exchange of his sisters. 

A hand gently grabs hers, and it startles her so much that she almost jumps but she just looks up. The hand belongs to Robb Stark and it’s so big compared to hers, and she stares at it, imagines it wrapped around the pommel of a sword, and the grip is there, strong, but it’s also gentle, not hurtful. It’s a hand you’d want to hold if you were falling and needed something to hold onto. 

“Princess Rhaenys.” His voice reaches her and that’s when she decides to look up. His blue eyes are on her, and they’re kind too. The same way he’s looked at her this afternoon. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“The pleasure is mine, Your Grace.” She answers in a stern voice. She wishes she could be happier, or at least appear to be, at the prospect of marrying him. But all she can think is her mother’s screams as the Mountain grabs her, her baby brother’s body hitting in the wall, blood splattering everywhere. 

  
  


The sun has set, music is playing in the distance and the guests seems to enjoy themselves enough to not care much when Robb asks her for a walk around the gardens. She nods with a small smile and accepts the elbow he offers her. Her hand settles in the crook of his arm, and they start going around the garden maze. She sees Arianne winking at her with a playful smile that Rhaenys doesn’t respond to. They walk in silence for a few minutes and then, once they’re out of earshot, Robb speaks up. 

“So I take it Rain is short for Rhaenys.” 

It’s not what she expected his first words to her to be but she’s glad in a way. She wants to correct him, tell him that it’s _Rhaen’_ and not _Rain_ , but the nickname sounds nice in his voice so he lets it slide. “Uncle Doran gave me that name. When I arrived here, it was pouring rain, Uncle said I was the one who brought the rain to Dorne. He kept calling me like that for years and it’s nice to have a new name when you go into hiding.” 

She feels his eyes on her for a quick second, but she doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t want to see pity in them. “I am very sorry about your family, my lady. Nobody deserves this.” 

“Why are you apologizing? You’re not the one who murdered them.” She says and this time she looks at him dead in the eyes. He stops walking, keeping her next to him, and she doesn’t lower her eyes under his intense gaze. His eyes are darker in the dim-lit garden, the candles incrusted in the high poles letting her know that the blue in his eyes can turn a dark blue. 

“I am still sorry that you had to go through that.” Robb says and the honesty she finds in his eyes strikes her. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like to go through that at such a young age. I _am_ sorry.” 

“You lost your father too.” She says without thinking. His gaze turns sad immediately and she feels sorry for him too. “I .. I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” 

“No, it’s alright,” Robb reassures her and he turns to the side, engaging in their walk again, “it just feels like a lifetime ago sometimes and everytime someone brings it up..”

“It feels like yesterday.” Rhaenys finishes, and he nods in silence. 

“Does it get better with time?” He asks her, and his voice is small, and she doesn’t comment on the wetness she spots falling down his cheeks. She squeezes his arms with her free hand. 

“It doesn’t.” She answers truthfully. “But you get better at pretending.” 

“Will you teach me?” He asks her and she remembers that yes, she’s engaged to him now, she’s to be his wife. They’re going to spend their whole life together. 

With a smile that she wants playful, she nudges his shoulder a little. “Of course, my dear husband, I’ll teach you anything you like.”

Robb lets out a chuckle, and the sound makes Rhaenys chuckle too. “I must say, your uncle played quite the trick on me.”

This time, she’s the one who stops and her hand falls from Robb’s arm and he stops too, a steap ahead of her and he turns to her, his eyes searching hers. “I am sorry my uncle played you, I know it wasn’t me you were expecting you nor wanted.” 

Robb takes a small step towards her, and they’re so close, she can feel his breath on her skin and he’s taller than her, and he’s looking at her and he feels so warm, and she’s not even touching him anymore, but it’s the way his gaze doesn’t leave hers. 

“You’re better than anything I could’ve ever expected or wanted, and probably more than what I deserved. You are a Princess, and I am no one. ” 

“You are a King.” Rhaenys protests. “Uncle said your people named you King in the North.” 

Robb lowers his gaze then, and she sees his jaw harden. “And I try to uphold my promise to them every day, my lady.” 

She stares at him and tries to see the lie, try desperately to find a flaw but she can’t, and all she sees is a young man who tries so hard. Her heart sighs in her chest, and suddenly she feels herself longing for him, for the sincerity she sees emanating from him. “You’re a good man, aren’t you?” 

“I try to be.” What he does next makes her take a step back altogether, and for a second, she prays that no one sees it. Robb kneels in front of her, his eyes never leaving hers - and she’s starting to love it, the feeling of those blue eyes on her, though she’ll never admit it out loud. “And I don’t have a sword to lay at your feet right now but know this, my lady, I will never dishonor you. I will always protect you, I will always keep you safe and sound, I will never let anyone hurt you. I will avenge your mother and brother. This is my oath to you. I swear it, by the old gods and the new.” 

She lets the tears fall on her face, unable to utter a word after such a moment. She looks at Robb, not caring that she’s now crying in front of him. She grabs his shoulders, pulling him up. “Thank you, Robb.” 

A big smile makes its way to Robb’s face and Rhaenys likes the sight of it, likes the fact that the smile is for her and her alone. She smiles back and they stay like this for a while, just smiling at each other, and for a second, in this warm night, she believes him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?  
> We're going to catch up with Jon and Cat in the next chapter so be excited about that !  
> If you ever want to chat with me , i'm on tumblr @ paperskiess and @ rhaenysmarteII on twitter :)  
> I love you all and I hope you're staying safe!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone ! I hope everyone is doing okay in those crazy times. If you are leaving in the US, please be careful and stay safe. I really really wish there was more I could do other than donate and retweet and spread news but I can't so I do ask you to give your help where you can. Even if it's just reblogging things, or retweeting something or anything. 
> 
> Also : some of you had concerns about Rhaenys's eye colour. Just to explain things : I never found any canon material to explain her eye color when i did my research. I'll change it since it bothered people so much. So yup. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented nice things, and to the people who have been mean : please step out of this story. Thank you. And to the people who have been defending me and the portrayal of Sansa, you guys are gems. Thank you. I love you all, take care of yourselves. And I hope you enjoy this chapter.

**Catelyn**

  
  


“And gag him!” She yells at the men taking Jaime Lannister away. Jon is by her side, his jaw clenched so hard she’s surprised he hasn’t broken it yet. 

“He deserves to hang.” He whispers at her. 

“Trust me, no one wants him gone more than me.” She thinks of her Bran, falling from that window, pushed by the Kingslayer, and she thinks she could be the one tying the rope around his neck. “But we can’t. ”

Jon gives her a look and he nods understandingly. They go back to the tent where she was in the middle of writing a message to Robb. Brienne follows them inside, guarding the entrance. Catelyn leans back against her desk, suddenly feeling exhausted. She had no idea that trying to manage an army would be so tiring. Of course, Jon helps too, he always does, and the battles they’ve won in Robb’s absence have proved that he’s capable of leading on his own. But still, the Kingslayer had managed to escape already and it’s only a matter of time before he tries his luck again. 

“We can’t risk for him to escape again.” Jon says, sounding as tired as her. “We’re only lucky we caught him again. But he’ll try again, he knows he can do it now so he  _ will _ try again. We can’t let that happen.”

“Robb’s raven said the alliance is secured but he has to stay for another fortnite to oversee the arrangements. I don’t think we can wait too long.” She sighs. Oh, how she wishes she could be back home already, back in Winterfell, back with her family. 

“The men out there won’t.” Jon groans. “God, I wish Robb could come back now. If the Kingslayer escapes again, we’ll never get the girls back. The Lannisters will know we’re weak, and they’ll ..” 

His voice trails off and Catelyn tries to think, tries to think of a way. A way to get the girls back, without exchanging forJaime Lannister. This war has been going on for so long, it seemed like every plan had died before it was even born. 

“I should have ridden straight down to King’s Landing after leaving the Night’s Watch and get the girls then..” Jon says, his eyes closed, and there’s a dry laugh at the end of his voice, but Catelyn suddenly looks up, studying him. She looks at him and suddenly, she thinks _ yes _ . Jon opens his eyes, and catches Catelyn’s eye. He frowns, but then he shakes his head, quickly understanding. “Lady Catelyn.. no..” 

She stands straighter. “Jon. It’s the only way right now.” He’s still shaking his head. “Jon.. please..” Never in her life had she thought that there would come a day where she’d beg Jon Snow. And still, here she is. 

“I can’t. I can’t, I .. I won’t. I can’t leave the camp, not when Robb is away and Karstark is a minute away from cutting Jaime Lannister’s throat. If I leave, they’ll riot, and I can’t leave you alone, and..” 

“Jon!” She exclaims and he jumps back, flinching at her loud tone, his eyes looking alert and, for the first time since he’s been here, terrified. She remembers that he’s only seventeen, he’s only a child and he’s been given so many responsibilities, and he’s trying so hard to carry them on his own. She almost feels sorry that she has to ask one more of him, but she doesn’t have any other choice. Her mother’s heart is full of despair now, and her last resort is pleading. “Please.” 

“I ..” He tries but his protest dies quickly. He seems to ponder over something in his head and it’s one of the times where she wishes they were closer so she could ask him. “The men  _ will _ riot if I leave.” 

“We’ll handle them.” Brienne says in their back. Jon looks at her, searching for her eyes. He shakes his head once again. 

“I can’t leave without Robb’s consent. He left me in charge, I can’t-” 

“I’ll talk to Robb. I’ll take the blame for it if it comes to that. But Jon, listen to me,” she steps closer to him until she has his face in her hands, the scruff he has burning her palms, “you have to do this. If you care for Sansa as much as you say, you will do it.” 

Jon’s eyes are set on hers but she doesn’t lower her gaze. Something passes in his eyes, determination she thinks, but there’s something she can’t pinpoint there too. He grabs her hands, and she realizes he’s still wearing his gloves, but she feels his warmth too. She remembers his lineage then, that he’s a Targaryen too, as well as a Stark, that he’s half wolf, half dragon. “No one can know..” He says. “If I leave, I have to make it quick. No one can know I am going. I’ll find Sansa and Arya as soon as possible. _ No one _ can know.” 

She nods and a new sense of fear comes over her. She knows it the minute she squeezes his hands. His eyes lower on them, their joined hands, and he closes his eyes again, with a sigh. She’s sorry then, so sorry, sorry that she couldn’t have been there for him as he grew up, but she can be here now. So she lets go of his hands and brings him towards her, in a motherly embrace. She places a kiss by his temple. “Thank you, Jon.” 

He pulls away and takes a step back, but she sees the tears in his eyes. “I’ll get them back to you, I promise.” 

And when she watches him leave in the dark of the night, she believes him. She’s still afraid that another one of her sons might not come home, that another one might be taken away from her, but she believes him. As a mother, she has to. 

  
  
  


**Jon**

  
  


It takes him four days to ride to King’s Landing, he’s exhausted, sore all over, and he’s feeling so lonely. The last time he had to ride for so long without stopping, he had Ghost with him, running by his side, but he had to leave him at the camp, someone had to keep an eye on Catelyn; plus, Ghost would only draw attention to him. And he needs to get Sansa and Arya out of there fast. He knows there has been reports that Arya has fled King’s Landing, and part of him wants to believe she has, but another part of him can’t think of his little cousin all alone in this vast country. And then he thinks of Sansa, and the fear cripples him, and almost makes him turn around twice, but every time he thinks about stopping, he remembers that each second of him doubting is one more second for Sansa in this prison. He is terrified, he’s terrified of seeing her again, and that’s probably why he first didn’t agree to Catelyn’s plan. But then… he should have never let her leave in the first place. He knows he owes it to her in a way, he keeps blaming himself for it all. He never should have left Sansa. He should have fought for her, he really should have, he should have tried harder for her. And this, he can save her now. He can rescue her, and Arya too, and he’ll find a way for him and Sansa to be together then, and then everything will be fine. 

  
  


The city is almost burning when he gets in. Soldiers are running everywhere and there’s chaos everywhere. For a second, he almost feels like he’s dreaming, like he’s actually in his tent, and that he’s dreaming all of this. There are people, common folk and soldiers, running in every direction, he sees blood at every turn, women racing past him holding children in their arms and barely registering him, Lannisters soldiers gathered in their red armours, their swords in hand. For a second, he thinks he’s going to turn around and find Robb fighting one of them, but he doesn’t. No, he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head, and he focuses back on his mission. 

_ Get the girls back. _

It’s harder than he thinks. The Red Keep is heavily guarded, and he has to knock a couple of soldiers out to get access in. He takes one of the red cloaks and a helmet, hoping it’ll be enough to help him pass as a Lannisters guard. He hugs the walls, carefully checking before turning to each corner, sticking to dark spots, and he soon realizes that he is at the risk of being found. There are still soldiers walking around the castle and his heart stops beating a few times but they don’t see him and he really thinks it’s only sheer luck that he’s still alive. 

Corridors after corridors, it’s like he’s running around in a maze, in endless circles, but just as he’s about to turn another corner to the left, something stops him. He stays close to the wall, closing his eyes and momentarily stopping to breathe. He hears light footsteps, hurried, and then a door closing and a loud thud. For some reason, something pulls him towards the closed door. He tries to push the nudge away but it doesn’t leave him. With a muttered curse, he looks right and left before following the little voice inside his head telling him to go to the door, now, now,  _ now _ . He swiftly crosses the corridor and takes a deep breath before he tries the handle of the door. It’s locked -  _ of course _ \- but he stays in front of the door. _ It’s crazy _ , he thinks, if he’s wrong, they’ll have his head and then.. But he has to try. He can’t die without trying. 

“Sansa?” He calls out softly, not even sure if the person on the other side of the door can hear him. And if they can, who’s to say it’s Sansa, if someone finds out he’s here, his head will be flaunted on a spike a the city gate. His heart races in his chest, the terror growing and growing and his breathing is getting quicker, and he’s a second away from turning on his heels, finding his horse again and running away from this gods-forsaken city when the lock of the door tilts, and the handle turns slightly. 

He stands still, unable to move as the door opens. He sees her gown first, a beautiful lilac color, then her hair - it’s grown longer, it’s almost down to her waist. Then it’s her face, and there is shock, confusion, fear too, and Jon is afraid too, he’s afraid that she’s a dream, that a guard found him and knocked him out and now he’s hallucinating. Her eyes brings him back to reality though and he knows he’s not hallucinating, this is not a dream, those eyes could bring him back from death or undo him. 

“Sansa..” Her name comes out like a whisper though his heart screams for her. He steps into the room, and closes the door behind him. Sansa takes a step back, fear and confusion and shock still written on her face, and Jon realizes that he’s still wrapped in Lannisters colors, so he carefully removes the helmet. He sees the realization passes on Sansa’s face, and his heart beats a little more peacefully when his name crosses her lips. 

“Jon..” It sounds so foreign, like she’s never said it before and she’s still getting used to it but so familiar too, like his name is for her alone to speak, and his chest grows with fondness at the sound. “I .. How..What..” 

Sansa mutters incoherent words in confusion and shakes her head, and Jon knows this, he has seen it happen before, has seen her not believing something so he puts both of his hands gently on her cheeks, grounding her, bringing her back, like she does for him everytime. Her eyes meet his, and there’s a tear falling and his thumb catches it. His lover lets out a small gasp. “You came..” She whispers, her voice laced with pain and he hates himself then, he hates himself for not being able to come sooner. 

“Of course I came.” He answers. “It wouldn’t be a good song if the knight doesn’t save the princess.” 

He watches his words hit Sansa and then she’s fully crying in his arms and he catches her, keeps her there, lets her cry and he sheds a few tears himself. Life isn’t a song, he’s been trying to tell her this for years, but right now, it feels so good, so good to pretend like they’re in one, that’s he’s the knight rescueing the maid from a high tower, that they can just walk out of this palace unharmed and rejoin Robb’s camp soundly. If their story had to be a song, Jon wants it to end there, Sansa in his arms, finally, after all this time. 

But life isn’t a song, and he’s not a knight, but she’s a maid who needs saving, so he gently pulls her away from his chest, dries her tears. Her face craddled in his palms, he stares at her, wants to indulge in the moment for just a little longer. 

“I’ve prayed so much for this.” Sansa speaks, and she sighs in his hands, and he wants to kiss her then, he wants to tell her that he has prayed for this too. But he doesn’t kiss her, doesn’t tell her his heart’s truth. Later, he tells himself, when they’re safe away on Robb’s camp, he’ll tell her. 

“And I am here now. I am here to take you home.” Jon tells her and that’s the truth too, and for now it’s good enough. 

She nods, and then, they act quickly. He takes his dark cloak from under the red Lannister cloak and puts it around her shoulders, tying it around her neck tightly. It feels awfully intimate and in his dreams, he usually does this in the godswood, next to a heart tree, but this will do for now. He’ll cloak her properly when they’re safe. 

Jon puts the helmet back on and Sansa’s hands slip into his and somethings shifts in Jon, as if he’s finally full, complete, like he had been born solely for this purpose, to have her hand in his, always. Jon is about to lead her but Sansa pulls on his hand. “Wait, this way.” 

She leads him to the right, and together they run down the corridor, and it does feel like they’re in a song, both running towards their destiny, and Jon almost doesn’t care if they’re caught, as long as Sansa’s hand stay in his. He could run a thousand miles, dream a thousand fantasies, fight all the king’s men, it would mean nothing if the end isn’t like this, Sansa leading him away, her fingers around his. 

But songs end, they always do, and theirs end the minute they bump into three Lannisters soldiers and Jon knows then that death never awaits for those in love. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is as always very appreciated :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE !!! PLEASE READ !!! 
> 
> HI EVERYONE !! HAPPY PRIDE MONTH !!  
> Still in light of everything that's been happening around the US lately, I want to beg you, please please , please stay safe. I can't physically protest you with those who do but please, if you do go out there please be careful. As a poc, I hate everything that's happening right now. I have gathered a few organizations links to where you can donate, if you want their links , come to ask me on tumblr @ paperskiess, i'll gladly redirect you.  
> We have to do better as a society. 
> 
> On another note, I'd like to remind people to be nice in the comments as always. We're touching into the political plots of this rewrite, so it's absolutely normal if you don't understand everything or you're not aware of everything right away. I am making it that way. So please, be kind. Remember. I love those characters, this is my love letter to them.  
> ANYWAY ! Happy reading :)!

**Sansa**

  
  


It must be a dream. 

Sansa thinks it must be a dream. She would wake up soon, and she’d find herself in her room, the city would be safe and Jon wouldn’t be there. He would be off on the Wall, or with Robb like the rumors claim. Anywhere but here. 

“Your name is Jon Snow.” Queen Cersei says, loud for the whole room to hear. The Throne room is full today. Lannisters standing on one side and a family she does not recognize. She thinks she recognizes Ser Loras, the Knight of Flowers, who had given her a red rose at the Hand’s Tourney.. back when her father was still alive and she had tried hard to find it in herself to like Joffrey. It all seems like a lifetime ago. She stands on the higher sides, her expression carefully schooled to neutrality, she isn’t going to give any rumor material to the crowd of young ladies in her back. 

“It is, Your Grace.” Jon answers, where he is, brought down on his knees; he had protested, thrown a fit when Ser Meryn had done it, and for a second, she had thought that this would be it, but Jon had glared at the older man and yielded. On his knees. Where he shouldn’t be.

“I remember you from our time in Winterfell.” Joffrey speaks up. “You were going to The Wall, to swear the holy vow of the Night’s Watch. And somehow we find you here, in King’s Landing, try to run away with your cousin on the night of battle. You’re a deserter and a traitor.” He pauses, his mouth doing that thing it does when he’s thinking of something particularly evil. Sansa has seen it enough times to know. 

“Your Grace.” Cersei addresses Joffrey. “Don’t forget his cousin is in open rebellion with the crown. He’s the nephew of a traitor. His mother is the reason why your late father went into Rebellion with the Targaryens because she broke her engagement to him. The Starks have a precedent for treason it seems.” 

The jab earns a few laughters around the room but Sansa sees the silent growl Jon makes. _It’s all her fault_ , she thinks, she had wanted to take the other corridor, and that’s where the soldiers had found them. 

“We should finish what my father started and kill him. Kill all the Targaryens.” Joffrey exclaims, rising from the throne. 

This time, there’s no laughter. No one is piping a word. Sansa thinks her heart has stopped beating in her chest. “But … As much as I would love to send your head to Robb Stark, he might kill my uncle Jaime. So, I’ll keep you alive. For now. We’ll keep you here, until your cousin decides to ” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Jon answers but Sansa hears the disdain in his voice. 

Joffrey waves a hand and Ser Meryn unbinds him. Jon rubs his wrists, probably soothing the pain, he goes to stand on the side, and she sees the quick glance he gives her. She can’t even give him a smile, how could she? Their troubles aren’t over yet. 

Joffrey sits back on his throne, and then proceeds to watch as Joffrey gives Lord Baelish the castle of Harrenhall, and then watches as Ser Loras approaches Joffrey, kneeling on one knee before him. His words are loud and clear as he requests Joffrey to accept his sister Margeary’s hand. Sansa feels her heart racing in her chest, _please say yes, please say yes_ , she mentally prays. 

“Is this what you want?” Joffrey asks, directly addressing Margeary. 

Sansa watches Margeary, studies her and the girl is young, probably no older than her, but there’s something hidden in the smile she offers the court. Like she knows something no one else does and somehow it makes her feel superior. The flatteries she gives Joffrey sound almost real, but Sansa knows the thruth. Joffrey isn’t brave, nor wise, and Sansa thinks she likes the tale of him being a bastard more anyway. Tales are lies after all, lies threaded meticulously to sound like the truth but the fall is only more hurtful. 

“It’ll be an honor to return your love, but I am promised to another. A king must keep his words.”

“Your Grace,” Cersei objects once more, and Sansa sees the thread she holds over Joffrey, playing him delicately like a puppet, “in the judgement of your small council, it would neither proper nor wise for you to wed the daughter of a man beheaded for treason, a girl whose brother is in open rebellion against the throne. For the good of the realm, your small council is begging you.. to set Sansa Stark aside.” 

Gasps are heard throughout the whole room, and still, Sansa remains quiet and emotionless. She can’t let them see, she can’t let them know, she can’t let them have anymore of what’s left of her. They’ve already taken so much, she won’t give them any more to speculate on. 

“But I took a holy vow.” Joffrey insists, and for a second, Sansa wants to go down, grab a sword from one of his Kingsguards, and put it through his throat herself. 

Maester Pycelle’s voice comes to her ears gruntled and barely understandable, and she can’t care less about his words. All she can see is the look Joffrey gives her when Pycelle is done. A hateful smirk plays on his lips, and she sees how his eyes settle on Jon for one quick second, and now more than ever, she wishes she was more like Arya, unafraid to threaten him or harm him. 

Joffrey accepts Ser Loras’ offer and the claps and cheers somehow can’t seem to drown out the rapid beating of her heart. _He’s not marrying me anymore. He’s not marrying me anymore. He’s not marrying me anymore._ It’s all she can think about, as everyone claps. She’s finally free. She steps away from the high balcony and lowers her head as she starts her walk towards the side exit of the throne room. Slowly but surely a grin spreads on her face and even some happy tears make their appearance on the rim of her eyes, she wants to laugh and rejoice and find Jon and kiss him and run away with him and- 

“My lady.” The voice startles her and she jumps, and almost stumbles as she turns around, but quickly conceals her surprise as Lord Baelish approaches her. “My sincere condolences.” 

Sansa shakes her head, and fakes a careful look around the room, to make sure no one saw her dare to grin. “They’re right. I’m not good enough for him.” She lies, but she knows the truth. No one is good enough for a monster, anyway. The villain of the story is never satisfied. 

“You shouldn’t say that. You’ll be good enough for many things. He’ll still enjoy beating you, and now that you’re a woman,” Sansa’s hearts sinks in her chest at the thought of someone like Lord Baelish knowing about this, “he’ll be able to enjoy you in many other ways as well.”

“But if he’s not marrying me..” She says, trying desperately to hold onto the last piece of hope she has. 

“He’ll let you go home with your cousin, to your brother?” Lord Baelish sneers at her, and she can’t blame him. “Joffrey isn’t one of those who gives away his toys.”

“Lord Baelish.” 

This time Sansa doesn’t jump at the voice, that voice is too familiar to her to have her shocked. She watches as Lord Baelish turns around, to find Jon behind him. When did he get so sneaky, she wonders. 

“I don’t think we had the pleasure to be introduced.” Lord Baelish says. 

“Oh, I know you just fine.” Jon answers, his voice cold like a winter morning. “Lady Catelyn has told me a lot about you.” 

Sansa sees a sudden tension in Lord Baelish’s shoulders. “Lady Catelyn is a very old friend of mine. We grew up together.” 

“Yes. I know.” Jon says, and Sansa can’t recall a time where she’s seen him act so cold. He is staring at Baelish straight in the eyes, his chin raised high and his hands behinds his back. Standing tall like this, he almost looked like her father. 

“If you will excuse me.” Lord Baelish nods at both of them before taking his leave. Jon watches him leave, never lets his eyes go from the older man until he’s fully out of earshot. 

“I don’t like the man at all.” Jon says, still staring at Lord Baelish. 

“Why?” Sansa asks, and she’s not sure why she does, but Jon has never been so quick to judge someone. 

He turns back to her, and his hard gaze softens immediately when it lands on her. He shakes his head, a smile appearing on his smile. “Nothing.” His eyes studies her, and she does the same. She hadn’t had much time to do so, last night had happened so quick, it still felt like a dream, and now.. She can see the growing stubble on his jaw, the length of his wild curly hair, she sees the outline of grown muscles under his leather vest. He is still in his dirty and muddy clothes, and suddenly she is so happy to see him like this. In leather, northern style clothes, and it reminds her of home so much. And she thinks she might be okay after all. Joffrey might not send her to Robb in exchange for Jaime Lannister yet, but at least now she’s not alone. She’s not alone anymore, and this might make this hell a little more bearable. And is it really hell if Jon is with her?

  
  


**Robb**

  
  


“We’ve gathered around 5 thousand men from dornish houses. I’ve talked to them this morning, and they’re ready to leave at your command. Of course, I’ll join you too. We’ll be ready in around two days, we can leave then if you want.” 

Robb nods, listening to Oberyn’s words. He’s been in Sunspear for more than a fortnite now, and the alliance is finally secured. It feels so surreal. _Finally, something is working,_ he thinks. “I’d like to meet them. Your men. I can’t ask them to follow me if they don’t know me.”

Doran and Oberyn both raise an eyebrow at him, and Robb almost wants to smirk at the way the two brothers mirror each other so well sometimes. Robb has noticed the differences between them, Oberyn is passionate and a do-er where Doran is calm and collected and patient. Robb has trained a few times with Oberyn, and he hates to say it, but he almost feels sorry for the men who will face Oberyn in battle. He can still feel the bruises on his back from the spear from their training two days ago. He’s not sure if he remembers it because of how hard Oberyn hit him or because he got hit because he had been distracted by Rhaenys who had come to watch though. 

“As you want, Your Grace.” Doran nods. “Moving on to happier matters, we wll have the wedding once your war is over and your family is reunited. As you can understand.” 

Robb raises an eyebrow this time. “Why so?” A certain anxiety makes his way into him. He knows people would make fun of him for thinking it, but he almost wishes Rhaenys and him could be married now. 

“If people were to learn of her existence now, they will come for her. Lannisters spies are everywhere.” Doran explains. 

“We just want her to be safe.” Oberyn continues. “This is war. You could die on the battle field or tomorrow in your bed. We just want her to be safe.” 

“Why would I die in my bed?” Robb asks warily. Oberyn just shrugs, his nonchalance not easing Robb’s anxiety. He shakes his head, trying to push away Oberyn’s little joke. “I understand, but don’t you think that maybe, if people were to hear that she’s alive, people would rally behind her?”

Robb sees the thought reach the two dornish men, and he clearly sees the thought is not foreign to Doran, but still, his tone is the same. “We still won’t take the risk.” 

“Fair enough.” Robb sighs. “I will tell her myself if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course. You seem to get along well.” Oberyn smirks . Robb almost wants to roll his eyes at Oberyn’s subtle implications. It has the same energy as the playful and mischievious looks Arianne sends him whenever he goes on a walk with Rhaenys. 

“Aren’t I supposed to get along with my future wife?” Robb decides to push back a little, feeling brave enough to play around with the Red Viper. 

“Oh of course. Except here in Dorne we get to know each other a little differently..” 

_There it is_. “And I am a Northern man. We do things quite differently.” 

“Sure. Is running off with married spouses a part of it?” The snap is obvious, and Robb sees the glare Doran gives Oberyn for it. 

“You might want to direct your jab at the corpse of Rhaegar Targaryen for manipulating a teenager into following him to fulfill some prophecy.” Robb retorts. Oberyn raises an eyebrow. “We know the story. And me being here is my family trying to apologize for it.” 

“And we’re very grateful.” Doran insists. “You’re now aware of how .. hot-tempered my brother is. Please, Your Grace, excuse him.” 

“He can prove it to me on the battlefield.” Robb says. He stands up from his seat, clearing his throat. “If you will excuse me.” 

He steps away from Doran’s solar, ready to go and find Rhaenys. He wants to see someone that will want to see him too right now.

  
  


Rhaenys is writing in the garden when he finds her. She looks magnificent in the afternoon sunlight. Her hair is all loose today, and he likes the way it looks, all wavy and glowing and dark. He stays like this for a while, just watching her, her hands carefully gliding accross the parchment. He wonders what she’s writing, she is so focused, so oblivious to the world around her. The sun seems to grab her, illuminating her like an angel or a goddess. Robb sighs at the sight, his heart so full and happy. They’ve gotten to know each other quite well in the weeks he’s spent in Sunspear. She’s shown him the small village where people do their trades and show their works, and he had been surprised that most people knew her, and she had made sure to have time to talk to every merchant there. She had taken him riding in the vast sand plains around the castle; he could still hear her laugh when she had won their little race. So bright and booming, it had set his heart on fire. 

He looks at her, all those memories invading him and he is suddenly aware how much he is going to miss her. He wishes she could come with them, but Prince Doran and Oberyn were clear and he can’t say he disagrees with them. Rhaenys will be safer here, where no one knows she is hiding. Then, when he wins, she’ll come and they’ll be married and she’ll be the Queen she deserves to be and the thought fills Robb with joy. 

“Already writing me letters for when I am gone?” He speaks up, and she startles a little, and when she looks up, her eyes show she’s a little embarassed but she quickly recovers. She keeps writing on her piece of parchment, sending him a smile.

“You wish.” She teases, and he’s grown to like it, her teasing. The way her lips go up in a smirk and her purple eyes go dark with mischief. “I am just copying down something Oberyn asked of me.”

“What is it?” He asks as he steps closer. He sits next to her, and he doesn’t miss the way she looks at the small distance between them and seems to hold a breath because of it. He refrains a smile, but still, he’s glad to know he has somewhat of the same effect she has on him. 

“A list of poisons and their ingredients, and what they do.” She says with a nonchalance that reminds him of Oberyn. “It’s part of my training.” 

“Your training?” Robb asks, curious. “You’ve never mentionned that.” 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Your Grace.” She teases again, fluttering her eyelashes at him, and he knows her little tricks by now, she’s derouting him so she doesn’t have to answer his questions. Robb knows it’s because she most likely has trust issues, and he can’t blame her, but he also genuinely wants to know. 

“You don’t have to keep them from me.” He tells her, looking straight in her eyes, hoping his sincerity passes through. Her smirk falls a little, and her eyes go softer, and he thinks she understands. 

“I know.” Rhaenys’ eyes fall to her lap. “I know.. I want to, I just..” She never finishes the thought, and Robb understands. He knows the fear of losing everyone too. 

“It’s okay.” He reassures her, pushing out a lock of hair that fell on her face, they’re so soft under his fingers, he wants to run his hand through them forever. “Will you tell me one day?” He asks. 

She looks up back at him, and she finds her eyes to be sad, like she doesn’t want to but then a smile appears. “ I will.” She sniffles slightly. “ So. Have my uncles pledged their spears to your cause yet?” 

He sighs at her change of topic but he knows when to push his luck. And now, he doesn’t want to push her away. “They have.” His throat goes dry at the thought that comes to him next. “We’ve also talked about .. about our wedding.” 

“Our wedding?” At this, she puts her feather pen down and turns fully to him. 

“Your uncles insist that it must happen after my victory. For your safety.” 

He sees the way her mouth twitches, and the clench in her jaw. Her gaze hardens and he thinks he sees a flash of anger for a second. “My safety.. Right.” 

“It is the safest option, my lady.” Robb pushes, and even if the news don’t bring him much joy, it is the safest option for now. Rhaenys doesn’t seem convinced. “But with the men I’ve gathered thanks to your uncle, we will win this war. And then I’ll come back to you, I promise.” 

She smiles at him. She braces her hand up to touch his jaw. “You have to stop making promises you can’t keep, Robb.” 

Oh, how he loves hearing his name in her voice. He gently takes her hand from his skin, and places a kiss inside her palm. “I will keep this one. I _will_ come back to you.” 

“Maybe _I_ will come back to you.” She says defiantly. “Maybe I will gather my own army and use my wits and defeat the Lannisters and get you your sisters back.” 

He smiles brightly. “ I would love to see you fight beside me. But I don’t think my heart would handle it.” The thought of her risking her life on the battlefield is too hard to bear for him, even after so little time spent together. 

“I _would_ make it a handsome soldier.” Rhaenys says, thinking. 

“Not exactly my meaning, but I am sure you would.” He smiles still. He would love to see her in a full armor, holding a sword, fighting for him. But he’d rather die before he sees that happening. 

Rhaenys laughs for a quick second, but it dies quickly. “When will you leave?” There’s a different edge to her voice and he can’t quite tell what it is. 

“I’m meeting the men tomorrow. The ships are being gathered as we speak, so probably in a few days.” 

Rhaenys nods twice at him, her fingers still holding onto his. He feels like she wants to say something, he sees how she wrestles with herself, so he stays quiet. And when she doesn’t say anything else, he stays quiet too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is per usual very appreciated ! come chat with me on tumblr if you want , i'm @ paperskiess on there ! I love you all, stay safe !


	12. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, HAPPY PRIDE MONTH!!  
> I hope all of you lgbtqia+ people are doing okay and staying safe, please be careful in those tough times.   
> Like last time, I thought I'd link you a post i found on tumblr where there are links where you can help BLM organizations. We can all fight this in our ways!   
> https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-0KC83vYfVQ-2freQveH43PWxuab2uWDEGolzrNoIks/preview?pru=AAABcpmeyTg*UcBHaLvdH1llXed-8L_kJA# 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, any grammar mistakes are my own, I love you all so much :)

**Rhaenys**

  
  


She hugs Oberyn tightly, her heart heavy with the thought of her uncle going off to war. He pulls away from her embrace. “Don’t worry my little winged snake, I’ll keep an eye on your pup for you.” He teases, but Rhaenys nudges his shoulder. 

“Uncle, please.” She retorts, looking to her left, making sure Robb hasn’t heard; he’s talking to Arianne and Quentyn right now, or rather listening to Arianne, as she seems to be the one doing most the talking. 

“You like him, don’t you?” Oberyn asks, and Rhaenys’ eyes snap back to him, her mouth falling open in shock. “You can’t lie to me, little one. I’ve taught you too much for you to be able to lie to me.” 

Rhaenys bites the insides of her cheeks. Digging her nails in her palms, she wishes she wasn’t an open book at times, wishes she wasn’t the kind one people thinks she is. But she is kind, and she is an open book to her family. They had taught her to trust again, and for that she’d always be grateful. “Please, don’t tell him.” She sighs, praying that her uncle doesn’t comment on her small plea. 

Oberyn shoots a glance at Robb, who’s now looking very red. What on earth is Arianne telling him? “I don’t think I need to.” Oberyn answers, and Rhaenys exhales in gratitude. “Now, you be good alright? And remember, keep practicing..”

“And working on my potion making. I know I know.” Rhaenys rolls her eyes. 

“That’s my little girl.” Oberyn drops a kiss to her forehead and Rhaenys can’t help but smile. Oberyn looks at her one last time. “You remind me so much of your mother sometimes.” 

Rhaenys wants to ask why, she wants to ask how, but then Uncle Oberyn goes to say goodbye to Arianne and Quentyn and she’s left alone with her questions. 

“Still have some time for me?” 

Robb approaches her and the sight of him is a sweet of relief. His hair looks a little more red in the morning sun and she wants to run her fingers through it and hold him to her chest and commit the memory of him to her heart. 

“My cousin hasn’t made you want to run away yet?” She jokes, trying to ease her nerves. 

Robb chuckles nervously, his hand is fidgeting where it rests on the pommel of his sword. “No, I suppose I can be as protective as her when it comes to my family.” His eyes reaches hers, and she sees his nerves settle slowly and she’s glad it’s because of her. “I will write to you.” 

She has to smile at him. Out of all the men, she had to get a romantic. “You don’t have to, Robb.” 

“But I will.” His voice is clear, and she thinks this must be his king’s voice, his leader’s voice, and it sets something alight in her, and she’s taken by the want to kiss him then. She wants to grab him and pull him close, and kiss him fully on the lips, and feel them on hers, and she wants to feel the hair at the base of his neck. And for a second, she thinks he’s going to do it, he takes a step closer, his blue eyes set on her, and she can’t help but think,  _ this is it _ . But Robb only takes her hand and drops a small kiss to her skin. “Hopefully, I will see you soon my lady.” 

And with that he’s gone, and she sees Oberyn rolling his eyes and Arianne chuckling slightly while Quentyn watches warily. But they mean nothing compared to Robb’s frame as she watches him get on the small boat, and he still doesn’t turn around, away from her, once it starts sailing towards the ship. She watches his silhouette become smaller and smaller, the ghost of his lips still dancing on her skin. 

  
  


She tries to keep herself busy the rest of the day to avoid thinking about Robb and the emptiness she feels at the absence of him. She’s bringing flowers for Doran’s room when she sees Myrcella Baratheon sitting by herself on one of the top balconies, looking a little gloom. Rhaenys had been so occupied with Robb and getting to know him that she had completely forgotten about the young girl. Another one of Doran’s pawn on the board. 

Rhaenys approaches her, flowers in hand. “Hi Myrcella. What are you doing here all alone?” 

Myrcella startles a little when Rhaenys speaks up, but Rhaenys’s smile doesn’t falter. “Oh, hello Rhaenys.” Rhaenys sits next to her. “I just miss home that’s all. I didn’t want to leave my family..” 

Rhaenys nods understandingly. “Maybe we can be like your second family?” She tries. She plays with the ends of Myrcella blonde curly hair. She’s definitely a different sight here in Dorne. Young, fair skinned, blonde curly hair and those big green eyes. Certainly not what people are used to seeing here. 

“I didn’t really want to leave, but my uncle Tyrion said I would be safe.” Myrcella says, sniffling slowly. 

Rhaenys can’t help but feel sorry for her. She wants to tell Myrcella that sure, she will be safe here, as long as she never knows she’s just another piece in these men’s game. She doesn’t know Tyrion Lannister but she knows that him sending her here, so far from her home, has more to do with the Lannisters seeking an alliance for them than them wanting their princess to be safe. She wants to tell Myrcella that she probably don’t be safe, that the Lannisters have been played by Doran, that their greed has blinded them that they wouldn’t think anyone would dare go against them. She wants to tell the poor child that she’d be better off jumping off the highest tower of the palace. But she can’t. Myrcella is too young and probably wouldn’t understand. Rhaenys knows this all too well; little girls are too often the pawns in men’s games.

“Of course, you will.” She soothes Myrcella’s hair where the breeze caught in it. “You’ll be very safe here.” 

“Why was Robb Stark here?” Myrcella asks, she’s shaking now. “My mother says he’s a bad man that wants to hurt my family.” 

Rhaenys’s fingers still around Myrcella’s hair. She looks at the girl in front of her, so young, so innocent, so wide eyed. To an unknown eye, she does look like an innocent child, and maybe she is. But Rhaenys looks at her, and all she sees is her little brother’s blood splattered on the wall where his small head hit it. All she sees is a girl, twelve years old, twelve years more than her little brother had been given, twelve years that had been taken from him. Twelve years that he will never see because the Mountain murdered him on the orders of Tywin Lannister. Myrcella’s grand father. 

Rhaenys smiles at her. “Don’t worry about it, sweet girl. He’s gone now.”  _ Yes, Robb is gone, and if the rumors are true, then he has your father in his custody, rotting away like he deserves. _ “Do you want to come with me and put these flowers in my uncle’s room? He likes to have them when he takes his dinner.” 

Myrcella nods vigorously, a bright smile appearing on her smile. Rhaenys leads her to Doran’s room; he’s not there right now, he’s visiting the Maester yet again. Rhaenys wonders as she watches Myrcella puts the flowers in the vase. She thinks about the Lannisters, about her mother and her baby brother, she thinks about Robb and Doran who promised her vengeance and justice.  _ On their terms though, _ a small voice inside tells her. What about her vengeance, her justice? Myrcella smiles at her and Rhaenys mirrors it, shaking the bad thought away. She’s safe right now after all. She doesn’t need to worry herself with thoughts of war. 

For now. 

  
  


**Catelyn**

No matter how she read the words, she couldn’t make sense of them. 

_ We have your daughter Sansa and Jon Snow in our custody. Hand over Jaime Lannister and you shall have them in one piece.  _

The words make her dizzy, just thinking about it. What will Robb say? She can’t even bear herself to think about what he will say when he comes back. “My lady, if I may..” Brienne speaks up. 

Catelyn looks up at her, desperate to hear something that will make her feel less worse. “Maybe I could go down to King’s Landing and negociate..” 

Catelyn shakes her head immediately. “ No, I need you here. You’re the only one who will stop these men from killing each other or me.” She retorts. She leans her forehead on her hands. “ I shouldn’t have sent him there, Brienne. I never should’ve done it. Never. I’ve sent him to a death trap.” 

“My lady, you can’t blame yourself for it.” Brienne reassures her. “ Jon wouldn’t want you to. He seems like a smart boy, he’ll find a way to get out of there. If not, then Robb is coming back with men and with the Martell force, and the Greyjoy ships, we might have a good shot at taking King’s Landing and getting your daughters back.” 

Catelyn shakes her head again. “There’s no word of Arya.. I can’t keep ignoring the rumors that say she’s not in King’s Landing anymore.” She wants to cry just thinking about it. Her little girl, her wild little girl, all alone in this cruel world, with no one to protect her. “Any word on the Kingslayer?” 

“He’s still in his cell, my lady.” Brienne answers. “He’s being awfully quiet these last two days, but I’d rather have that 

“And any word from Robb?” 

“Not since his last raven when he departed Dorne my lady.” 

She nods, still not sure about Robb’s raven. It had been awfully cryptic, and for a second she been afraid nothing was working. But Robb did say that the alliance was secured. Something was working. So why does it still feel like nothing was?

It’s panting and with urgency that Theon enters her tent. “My apologies, my Lady.” He says, as Catelyn turns to him. 

“What is it, Theon?” 

“A raven, my lady.” He says, out of breath. He hands her a piece of parchment, and she holds her breath. Her heart sinks further in her chest.  _ Another family member that leaves _ , she thinks. 

“My condolences, my lady.” Theon says, lowering his head. 

She barely nods at him in thanks, still trying to understand another bad news. “We need to leave for Riverrun as soon as Robb comes back. Make preparations for that.” 

Theon bows in understanding and leaves the tent. Catelyn sighs, and leans back in her chair. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she tries to stop the tears but there’s nothing to be done. 

  
  


**Jon**

  
  


Jon looks at the walls, his new bed, the small table they put near a wall, the small seat next to it.  _ A prison in disguise _ , he thinks. They’ve put him near the servants’ quarters, but not too near that he’d feel the slight. He feels it nonetheless. He’s not too far from Sansa’s own room and that’s consolation enough. She’s here right now, arranging some flowers in a little pot on the table, a smile on her face. For a second, looking at her like this, it’s almost like they are back in Winterfell. With the world almost so quiet around them, it could be true he thinks, they could be there in Winterfell and it could be winter outside, and just down the corridor, they’d find little Rickon running around with Arya and Robb would be there too. There would be no war, they would be all safe. 

She looks back at him and smiles bigger, and he does too. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She says, and then, lower, after a quick glance at the open door. “You shouldn’t have come though.” 

He steps closer to her, and it feels like a dream, like he’s stuck in one and he can’t wake up, he doesn’t want to. She looks so mesmerizing, he doesn’t know how he ever thought for a second he could live with her. Going to the Wall, he thought he would never see her again. And yet, here he is. “I should have come sooner.” And that’s all he can say, that’s all he can say even though it doesn’t cover the truth. “I should have never let you go in the first place.” 

“Jon..” She warns him. “You can’t say things like this, they’ll hear you..” 

“Let them.” Jon takes her hand, and he truly means it. Let them hear him. “ I came here to save you, and get you out of here. And I may have failed the first time, but I am not about to give up. I will get you out of this town, Sansa. I promise.” 

He feels her fingers squeeze his and he sees a lonely tear fall on her cheeks. “They could kill you. You don’t know Joffrey. He’s.. He’s a monster.” 

“Sansa. I’ve fought worse than Joffrey. I promise you, I will get us out of here. Even if I have to fight all of Joffrey’s men, I will get us out of here.”

“You’re truly my hero.” She whispers to him, the smile back on her face. 

“And I will save my princess.” He promises to her, still not caring about who sees them smiling at each other. Let the maids run and tell the queen. Let them hear how he’s not going to quit until Sansa and him are out of this town. Let them kill him for trying, he’ll come back from the seven hells to drag them with him. But he is alive now, and if he’s going to stay here, then he’ll use all the time he has here to make it work. He wants to kill Lannisters and make them pay. What is the saying after all?  _ A Lannister always paid his debt.  _ The Lannisters had taken a big debt from his family, they have to pay up now, and Jon is in their den. The time for promises has passed, now is the time to act. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is per usual very appreciated! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 13 is here! A little later than planned, but I started work again and I am trying to divide my time so I can write and post as regularly but I can't make any promises so please be gentle with me if the chapters don't come soon. I hope every one of you is doing safe and that you are doing well. Thank you to everyone who has clicked on this story and gave it a read, it means the world to me. Take care of yourselves, I love you all! 
> 
> As always, any grammar mistakes is my own, and I apologize for them.

**Jon**

Jon stands to the side as he watches Littlefinger talk to Sansa. For a second he imagines how easy it would be to puch him off the deck and watch him drown. As far as he knows, Littlefinger is a traitor, a man with no set alliance is a traitor in his eyes and that’s what Littlefinger is. Shae must share his train of thought, as she’s staring at Littlefinger with the same wariness as him. A familiar red haired woman stops a step behind them, and Jon raises an eyebrow at her. 

“You’re a long way from home, Ross.” 

“And so are you, Lord Snow.” The red haired tells him, with a small smile. “It’s nice seeing a familiar face around here.”

“It sure is.” Jon says. And it’s the truth. It is nice to see a familiar face, it feels less like a prison that way, but it is still a prison. No matter how golden the cage is, it’s still a cage at the end of the day. 

“Do you work for Baelish now?” Jon asks, not caring if he sounds rude or not. He doesn’t trust Littlefinger one bit, and every one who works for him deserves the same treatment.

“I don’t remember you being so bold, Snow.” Ross answers. “But yes, I do. Not like you think, I help manage his affairs mostly.” 

“And what are his affairs? What does he do?” Jon asks. 

“It’s.. diverse.” Ross answers and Jon rolls his eyes, turning back to watch Littlefinger. “Do you remember the day she was born? How the bells rang for the whole day?” 

Jon didn’t need remembering, he remembers perfectly, he had been only two, but he still remembers the day like he had lived it yesterday. How he had looked at Sansa, just brought into the world, and had just known that he needed to protect her forever. And he is still trying. To this day, he still does. 

“I do.” He says. 

“I hope they rang as long if you return home.” Ross says. Jon wants to correct her,  _ when we return home, not if _ , but he stays quiet, and watch as Littlefinger bows to Sansa and make his way back towards them. “ Watch out for her, with him.” 

Jon turns back to Ross, a confused brow raised and he’s about to ask what does she mean, when Littlefinger reaches them and beats him to it. 

“Lord Snow. I must leave for now, but maybe someday, we’ll have the pleasure of a full conversation. Your interest, just as much as your cousin’s, are very important to me.” 

“Are they?” Jon says, staring at him, trying to see the lies in his eyes. 

Littlefinger almost looks concerned. “What happened to your family was a tragedy. We were all very pained to-”

“Keep your lies to someone who cares, Lord Baelish.” Jon says. With a bow to Ross, he heads where Sansa still is, Shae behind him. Once they’re a few feet away, Shae speaks up. 

“You shouldn’t talk to him that way. He’s more powerful than you.” She warns him.

“I don’t trust him.” Jon admits. He likes Shae, and she seems trust-worthy. It’s the way she cares for Sansa and has made sure she’s safe so far, and he’s thankful that Sansa had only one friend here. 

“Me neither, but we still have to be careful.” Shae insists. “ He wants something from Sansa, I know he does.” 

“And we can’t do anything until we know more.” Jon sighs. He hates how powerless he is right now, in this city, unarmed, with no prospect of a better future. They both reach Sansa, and she doesn’t turn to them once they do, seemingly lost in thought. “Sans’? Are you alright?” 

She nods, still staring out at the open sea in front of them. Jon studies her, she’s slightly turned away from him, and he hates it, hates how far away she seems to be right now. He’s scared too, scared that she drifts too far for him to reach. But then she turns to him, and a smile appears on her lips, and Jon forgets the far, the distance between them, the Lannister guard standing at the top of the stairs watching them. Only Sansa matters. 

  
  


**Sansa**

  
  


She likes that Jon is here now. She likes that there’s a least one more person in this whole city that isn’t actively planning her and her family’s downfall. That makes two people. Shae, and now Jon. 

And Lord Baelish. Possibly. Maybe. Sansa still isn’t sure of his intentions. He mentionned yesterday that he had a plan to take her home, to her family, but he had made her promise to not tell anyone. She had promised.

She had told Jon. Obviously. They never had secrets for each other after all, and now that she got him back, she wasn’t about to lose him again for secrets. She is still wary of Lord Baelish, she had to, everyone in King’s Landing had lied to her before. Why would he be any different after all? Jon had told her that Lord Baelish had met her mother at Renly’s camp, proposing an exchange to her and that he had lied that Arya was in King’s Landing. The words had made Sansa dizzy. All these lies, all these alliances.. they seemed so crazy to her.  _ We need to be careful who we trust _ , Jon had said, and she had nodded, but still. She felt strange being stuck in this game, not knowing who could stab you in the back and who would help stop the bleeding. 

Jon had then told her about Robb, how he was winning every battle, and how terrified Tywin Lannister must be if he’d rather stay here in King’s Landing then fight Robb on the battle field. She tells him how they call him here, The Young Wolf, how they say he rides onto battle on the back of Grey Wing. Jon only smiles, and rolls his eyes. She’s glad he’s here. She really is. 

She’s not glad for the look on his face right now. Lady Margeary had invited her for tea, the invitation coming from her brother Loras Tyrell, and Sansa had agreed, as any good lady would. But now, she is looking at Jon and she doesn’t think he’s very happy. He’s smiling, yes, and Lady Olenna is complimenting him, and he really is smiling but it doesn’t reach his eyes like she knows it can. 

“You embarass me, my lady.” Jon says, sounding almost shy. 

“I am only being honest, son. You must visit Highgarden once this whole war is over, I know some girls that will love to gaze upon those grey eyes.” Sansa hears the compliment from lady Olenna, and she sees it reach Jon but his smile isn’t real. 

“It will be my pleasure, lady Olenna. Now, I don’t want to intrude, but I am afraid I might have to borrow my cousin from you, my ladies.” Jon bows slightly. 

Sansa stands up, and curtsies to Lady Olenna and Lady Margeary. “My ladies, thank you so much for your kind invitation and this lovely afternoon.” She says, the words flowing out of her mouth perfectly she’s been taught to. She’s not sure talking about Joffrey can be considered lovely, but they had been kind enough to invite her after all. 

“We’ll see you soon Sansa.” Maegeary tells her, with a small wave. Sansa smiles before she turns to Jon, who offers her his arm, still with that false smile plastered on his face. The two Lannister soldiers that are assigned to watch over them follows as Jon and her make their way back out of the garden. 

He’s quiet. Quiet is nothing unusual for Jon, but years of growing up together, she has learned to know all of his kind of quiets. And right now he’s upset-quiet. She knows the best way to do it is let him talk about it first. But she doesn’t know why he could be upset about. His arm is tense under her fingers, and even her thumb rubbing over the silk, almost unconciously, against his arm doesn’t undo the clench in his jaw. 

“What did you do this afternoon?” She decides to ask, only to diffuse some of the tension. 

His shoulders barely raise in a shrug. “ Lord Varys dropped a few books two days ago, so I read those.” 

She nods, looking up at him, and usually, Jon would look at her back. She remembers Arya calling them magnetic once - the world had felt so foreign in her little sister’s voice, surely she had read it in a book -, that whenever one of them looked, the other always looked back, like pulled by an invisible force. She had found that to be beautiful and had agreed. But, right now, he doesn’t look back. “Jon.” He stares ahead. “Jon.”

“I thought we could go to the godswood.” He says, still not looking at her, and she wants to sigh in frustration but she bites her tongue and follow him to the small godswood. She’s the one who had shown him the path, she had taken him and together they had knelt down in front of the cut weirwood tree and prayed. 

The Lannisters soldiers stay at the top of the stairs, watching them descend to the private area, overlooking part of the bay. Sansa wonders if they stay out of the small godswood by respect for their privacy or because they believe in the Seven. Once there, Jon kneels, still quiet beside her and this time, she does sigh, and kneels next to him. A moment passes, and by then, she’s given up on Jon telling her what’s bothering him, but then he speaks up, whispering, his lips barely moving. “Why did you go with Ser Loras?” 

“What?” She asks, slightly turning to him. His eyes are closed, his hands joined in front of him, a harsh line between his brows. 

“Shae said you had gone with Ser Loras this afternoon. She said you took a walk through the gardens with him.” 

“Is this why you’re upset?” She questions him. His eyes suddenly open, and he shakes his head. 

“What?!” He exclaims, but quickly clears his throat, trying to gather himself. “I’m  _ not _ upset.” He says less loudly, and scoffs but Sansa sees right through him. 

“You are!” She chuckles. “Jon, are you jealous of Ser Loras?” The way he averts his eyes is answer enough. She can’t believe it. “By the gods, you _ are  _ jealous..”

She wants to laugh, but if she does, she thinks he might never forgive her, so she bites her bottom lip, and tilts her head, looking at him. He looks younger like this, his head a little bent, his eyes cast downwards, he’s biting the inside of his cheeks, a tell that he’s embarassed. She wants to reach out and caress his jaw, make him relax a little, but she’s afraid the guards might see and run to tell the queen. Instead, she whispers. “You know I only love you, right?”

He finally meets her eyes, and she sees the line on his forehead disappear, and his eyes go soft again, and a small smile, the one he only gives to her, appears. “I am sorry.” He says. “I shouldn’t have gotten mad.” 

“Ser Loras doesn’t like me, he barely remembers me from when we met so, don’t worry. He only walked me to the gardens, because his sister and grandmother invited me for tea. ” She quickly glances at the Lannisters soldiers, and then whispers, leaning in slightly. “ I only love you, Jon. I have only ever loved you.” 

She sees his eyes dart to her lips for a second and she wonders if he’s going to kiss her. She’s been wanting to kiss him ever since he appeared at her door like a miracle weeks ago. But she hadn’t, and he hadn’t made a move, but she wishes he could make one now.=, damn the guards. “And I have only ever loved you. Always.” 

She raises her chin in pride, her smile beaming. “Good.” She dusts her skirts a little, and pulls her back straighter. “And by the way, you are _ not  _ going to Highgarden.” 

Jon raises an eyebrow, smirking. “And why so, my lady?” 

Sansa shrugs and joins her hands back together, closing her eyes. “I am not letting Highgarden girls set their eyes upon you before we’re married.” 

She hears Jon chuckle. “ So that little ceremony when you were twelve and I was fourteen doesn’t count? You’re breaking my heart, my lady.” 

“You are mine, Jon Snow. No one else’s.” The confidence in her voice surprises her, and she wonders where her strength comes from. Could it be the godswood? Could it be the fact that Jon is not really angry at her? She opens one eye and he’s looking at her with a smile, the kind she loves, the kind that tells her he’s hers, only hers. Mirroring it, she shuts her eye again, but it doesn’t help the heat spreading on her cheeks.

Another chuckle. “Of course, my lady.” 

She hears Jon move slightly, and then his legs are touching hers and his shoulders are grazing hers and she smiles with her eyes closed but her heart is open, and they pray in silence, any tension, any air, any space between them gone. 

  
  


**Jon**

  
  


The sound of armor clicking behind him with each step it takes should feel like a lullaby by now, but it still makes Jon’s skin itch whenever he hears it, the Lannister soldier assigned to his surveillance never far behind him, wherever he goes. It’s never too close, but close enough that it doesn’t suffocate him. But it does regardless. 

He reaches Lord Varys’ solar and knocks on the small door. The door opens, pulled by Lord Varys himself, and at the sight of Jon, he offers a smile. “Lord Snow.” He says in greeting, his eyes falling to the small pile of books in Jon’s hands. “Finished already?” 

“I am a fast reader.” Jon shrugs, and he goes to hand Lord Varys the books but Varys gestures for him to come inside. Jon glances at the soldier behind him, and Varys seems to understand. Still, he steps aside to let Jon inside, giving the soldier a pointed look before closing the door behind Jon. 

Jon looks at the room, studies it in silence for a few minutes. He doesn’t try to hide it, and Varys doesn’t comment on it, just goes to put the books where they belong on small shelves. Jon sees a desk, with many parchment rolls laid on it and wonders who talks to this foreigner the most. 

“Did you like the books?” Varys asks. Jon turns to him and sees the man has started to pour two cups. 

“I don’t really want wine right now, it’s quite early.” 

“Hence why I’m pouring water.” He hands Jon a cup, and Jon smiles apologetically. “So? Did you like them?” 

Jon nods. “They were quite interesting. I never studied the lineage of the Targaryens in depth so that book was most educative.”

Varys nods, offering Jon a seat in front of his desk. This close, Jon can almost decipher a few words but not fully and it irritates him somehow. The idea that a man like Varys, a foreigner, could be more informed than him right now doesn’t sit well with him. 

“I thought you’d like it.” Varys says, studying Jon. “ I am sure that growing up in Winterfell, speaking the name of a Targaryen couldn’t have been seen well.” 

“I  _ am _ a Targaryen.” Jon says almost immediately, and quickly regrets it. The defense had come so fast, it almost surprises him. He had never truly defended his Targaryen side, but after reading about the dynasty and the people who were his ancestors, he couldn’t help but feel closer to them. 

Varys smiles. “But you are more wolf than dragon. You wouldn’t have been able to get to King’s Landing if you weren’t.” 

Jon stays quiet, processing Varys’s words. Is he really more wolf than dragon? All the Targaryens had dragons, they rode into battle on the back of dragons. Jon has Ghost, a direwolf, the sigil of House Stark, and ever since he’s been stuck here, he regrets his decision of leaving Ghost behind more and more every day. This far from his faithful companion, Jon feels less complete. Sure, he’s reunited with Sansa, but he’s still missing a part of himself. Maybe Varys is right, maybe he’s more wolf than dragon. A wolf is never heard before the attack after all. 

“But I still got caught.” Jon whispers, more to himself. And it’s true, and he has yet to come to terms with this truth. 

“Because you didn’t have the necessary help.” Varys says, setting his cup down. 

Jon raises an eyebrow. “ Who could have helped?” He questions, anger slowly rising in him. “Everyone in the capital has seen Joffrey cut my uncle’s head off and yet they did nothing. I don’t want their help.” 

“We tried to stop it. We really did.” Lord Varys says, with a heavy sigh. “ Not many of us wanted to see your uncle gone. He was a good man. But he was betrayed. He trusted the wrong people. ” 

Jon waits for him to continue, but the older man only stares back at him. “ How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?” 

“Trust me, Lord Snow, I’ve been helping your family for far longer than you know.” 

Jon frowns fully now. “How so?” Jon tries to think of ways he could be telling the truth, but he doesn’t see one.

“I’m afraid it’s too early to talk about these matters, not when you don’t have all the pieces yet, but all I can say is that you do have friends here.” Lord Varys confesses.

“Like who?” Jon lets himself hope, for one second only, maybe there’s a brighter future ahead. A future where he’s not a prisoner anymore, where Sansa and he can walk freely, where they can hold hands as they wish, a future where he’s back north, with his family, like he’s dreamt so much of. 

“Like me.” Varys rises from his chair. He walks towards a smaller shelf and picks up three other books and Jon stands up, ready to accept them. Varys hands them to him, but doesn’t let go once Jon has them. “ Littlefinger only thinks of himself. Do not trust any word coming out of his mouth. He’s the one who betrayed your uncle.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, but Jon feels like he’s screamed them to him. 

Varys lets go of the book and Jon stumbles backwards a little, the words hitting him like a full blow. He shakes his head, trying to understand. “Why are you telling me all this? Why are you helping me?” 

Varys doesn’t answer right away, only once the door is open, letting in some of the chatter of the palace. The Lannister soldier comes back into view, and Jon schools his expression to a neutral one, and makes his way towards the door. “Thank you for the books, Lord Varys. I sure hope they’ll kill my boredom.” 

“Oh I’m sure they’ll help kill more than that.” Varys says and then the door closes and Jon doesn’t lose one beat and goes back towards his room, holding the book close to his chest. Closing the door behind him, he stays against the wood for a second, examining the books in his hands, wondering what Varys meant. 

_ Elixirs and Potions of the East _

_ Tales of the South  _

_ The Blackfyre Rebellions : How they rose to power _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated :) I suggest you do look up the Blackfyre Rebellions.. Their plot could parallel some arcs in the story..


	14. chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE ! PLEASE READ !! Hi everyone, it's been a long time! I do have an excuse and that is that I've started work again, and that it's downing on me quite a bit and causing me a lot of anxiety which then leads me to not do anything for days. This chapter was extremely hard to write, simply because I had no energy left these past week.   
> But I am somewhat better now, so hopefully I'll be able to come up with chapters soon. However, a heads up : the next chapter won't come *that* soon, I am currently in the process of moving apartments, so most of my time is divided in packing and working. Please be kind to me in these times.   
> I hope everything is okay with you guys and that my story can offer a small wndow of peace and comfort. I love you all, and I hope that you're staying safe in these troubling times :)

**Robb**

Seeing land after so long is truly a sight for Robb, and he can barely contain his nerves at the thought of seeing his mother and Jon again. This time, the boat had gone faster somehow and instead of a month it was only three weeks and a couple of days on the sea. In a couple of hours, he’d be touching land. Finally. And then he’ll go back to fighting and planning with new and skilled men at his side, and they will win this war. They will, Robb is sure of it. 

Oberyn comes to stand next to him on the deck, and stares at the land miles away from them. “I forgot how gloomy and grey the north is.” He sighs. 

“This is the west, the north is miles away from here.” Robb corrects him, and he feels a little strange doing so. All this time spent with Oberyn had made them bond truly, more than he would have thought, to the point where Robb considers him a friend, but still, he’s younger than Oberyn and the dynamic still feels strange to him. 

“If it’s as grey as this, I don’t see how much a difference it makes.” Oberyn shrugs. He crosses his arms over his chest, which only makes him appear taller, and Robb stops the well-known feeling creeping in his own chest. He always feels so small next to Oberyn, always feels like he has to seek approval from the older man. But he’s a king, he reminds himself once more of that fact. He has commanded his armies succesfully so far, and now with all the additional forces thanks to Prince Doran, he might have a shot at winning this war. 

Still watching the land, he thinks of Sansa and Arya, lost and alone in this cruel world. He had learned from his time in Dorne, from the mouth of Quentyn Martell, that Arya isn’t in King’s Landing anymore. Quentyn had said that Myrcella Baratheon had told them this in confession, but Quentyn had insisted that Robb should have known. He thinks about his baby sister, barely eleven years old, somewhere on the continent, some place he doesn’t know, some place he can’t reach. His hands shake at the feeling of hopelessness once more, and his fists clench, his nails digging in his palms. He feels tears at the edge of his eyes, threatening to fall, but he blinks them away, not wanting Oberyn to see him this weak. Robb is a king, what kind of king cries because he misses his family? And Robb does, he misses his family so much. But he’ll be with them soon, he will. They will all be together again soon. He has to believe so. 

  
  


Once his feet hit the small dock, he doesn’t take him long to find his way to the camp. Arriving early means no one is expecting you, and he’s half happy about that. So when he’s halfway through a hill, on the back of a borrowed horse, with Oberyn and GreatJon at his sides, and spots a grey form running towards him, he first thinks he’s dreaming. His heart recognizes Grey Wind before his eyes and it lurches in his chest, and he urges his horse to go faster and suddenly, he’s jumping off and running towards his best friend in full strides and he doesn’t have to bend anymore to hug the direwolf. Grey Wind has grown so much, almost to a full size direwolf and he’s almost as tall as Robb and Robb welcomes all his sloppy licking and nuzzling with glee. He’s laughing and giggling, his heart is so full and it feels like a piece of his heart has come back to him. He wraps his arms around Grey Wind’s neck, and he’s not even surprised at the fact that his fingers barely meet in the fur. He sighs against the direwolf’s fur and he swears he feels Grey Wind sighing too, the relief of the reunion hits him and it’s like he’s in a bubble and nothing can hurt him anymore. A sense of safety surrounds him, and it feels so familiar and foreign at the same time, it almost knocks him backwards, but he holds onto Grey Wind and he knows that as long as he has his faithful companion, nothing will hurt him. 

  
  


So it’s Grey Wind that leads them back to the camp and his men are indeed surprised to see him. He greets them and makes sure to shake their hands and have a few words with them before walking further. Grey Wind trots quietly next to him, and it must be a sight Robb thinks. A massive direwolf walking silently next to him. But Robb likes the way people’s eyes widen slightly when they see the two of them walking side by side. Grey Wind leads him to his mother’s tent and he finds Brienne guarding it. Brienne bows to him silently, and Robb smiles at her. He’s happy to see her, he really is, he promises himself he’ll talk to her after, after he’s hugged his mother and has found Jon so he can hug him too. 

His mother seems lost in her own train of thoughts, lost enough that she hasn’t heard him enter her tent, her back facing him as she leans over her desk. His heart sighs in his chest, and the words come out of his throat so small, it’s like he’s ten again and he’s scraped his knee while falling in the forest again. 

“Mother..” 

Her whole body seems to stiffen and then she turns slowly, and he sees the tears in her eyes, and he’s sure they must match his, and the next second, he’s throwing herself in her arms and the embrace feels as safe as the one he shared with Grey Wind and the happiness and the relief is welcome again, and he embraces his mother tight against him. 

He feels her wet cheeks against his own, but she starts sobbing against him, her body rocking with tears and he takes a step back, and sadness is written all over her face. He frowns in confusion. 

“Mother, I’m here, it’s alright.. I’m here.” 

Lady Catelyn shakes her head. “I am happy you’re back. I .. I wasn’t expecting you so early.” 

“The winds were good to us.” He answers, but the frown is still here on his forehead. “What’s wrong?” 

She looks up and he sees in her eyes that he won’t like the next words out of her mouth. Bracing himself, he listens to her, listens her report of the last two months and by the time she’s done, he’s exhausted as if he’s fought a hundred battles. His bones feel heavy, and he collapses on a chair, his head falling in his palms. He feels light headed as he tries to process his mother’s words. 

_ Jon is gone.  _

_ The Kingslayer has tried to escape once.  _

He feels something wet against his forehead and then Grey Wind is nuzzling his hands, trying to push them away so he can lap at his face, and Robb sighs, and lets him, lets himself be comforted. Grey Wind drops his face against Robb’s shoulder, letting out a small whimper. 

“Where is he?” Robb asks. His voice is shaking right now, but it’s the least of his problems at this point. “The Kingslayer. Where is he?” 

“We put him in the cell, but further away from the camp. We were afraid the Karstarks might kill him in his sleep if we didn’t.” 

Robb stands, pushing away the dizziness he feels doing so; if his hand grasp Grey Wind’s fur a little too tightly, then it’s nothing. “I’ll be back, then we’ll talk about Jon.” 

He nods at her, before exiting the tent. Grey Wind is once again leading him, and he finds Jaime Lannister’s cell easily enough. The camp is fully awake now, but there’s little sound around Jaime Lannister. It’s almost peaceful. Robb hates it. He wants him to be put in the middle of the camp again, buried in mud and dirt, like he deserves. Robb watches him quietly for a moment. Then, he nods at the man guarding the cell, and the man steps to the side, after opening the cell to Robb and Grey Wind. 

Jaime raises his head at the appearance, and Robb finds some comfort at the sight of him. He looks worn, like he hasn’t had a good night of sleep in weeks. He is covered in mud, and the color of his clothes can barely be made out anymore. He looks like hell.  _ Good _ , Robb thinks. 

“Your Grace.” Jaime Lannister says. “ I’ve missed you. I would kneel but..” He gesture his awkward position with his tied up hands. “It seems your lady mother has judged better to keep me this far away from your men.”

“I heard of your escape.” Robb says. “Impressive. It’s almost as if you don’t care for your life.” 

Jaime raises an eyebrow at him. “As if you wouldn’t have tried to escape too had you been in my place? Or do you think your dear sister is staying leisurely in my sister’s care? Do you think your dear cousin is not trying to find ways to get out of this awful city? ”

Robb doesn’t answer. He keeps his expression neutral, he doesn’t want to let Jaime Lannister think he can get under his skin. Because he won’t. Robb won’t let him. But his fingers tighten around Grey Wind’s fur and he feels the direwolf growl under him, and Robb almost wants to let him loose, wants to let him tear at his prisoner’s skin, let him know how Robb feels, what he truly wants to do, how much he wants to hurt him and his family. But no, it’s a risk he can’t take. Not when three member of this family are not home. Only when they’re reunited, only when he’ll have his whole family with him, in his arms will he be able to reign hell on the Lannisters 

“I am closer to getting them back than you are to escape this cell again.” Robb says, the words being more for him, than Jaime really. “I am back now, and I am not letting you out of our sight for one second.” 

Jaime sneers at Robb. “You really are starting to act like a king now.” Jaime raises his chin slightly, and Jaime sees the way his green eyes scan him up and down. “I suppose your time in Dorne has made you stronger.” He pauses, a devilish grin appearing on his lips. “Now tell me, how’s the little Rhaenys?” 

Robb’s brain goes blank once he hears Rhaenys’s name coming out of Jaime Lannister. He almost gasps but keeps it in. How does he know about Rhaenys? His brain runs wild with a hundred questions and he’s seconds away from asking when Jaime chuckles. “What, didn’t the princess talk about me?” 

Robb is speechless and doesn’t know what he could possibly say to this? Did someone on camp hear about his alliance to Rhaenys? No, that’s impossible, no one knows yet, not even his mother, no one. So how could Jaime Lannister possibly know of Rhaenys’ existence? Robb is suddenly hit by the fact that there’s so much that he still doesn’t know about Rhaenys.

“I suppose there are a lot of things you don’t know about, Your Grace.” Jaime confirms, as if he can read Robb’s thoughts, and Robb wonders if his uncertainty is that visible. He clenches his fist, somehow the words leave him feeling unworthy in Jaime’s voice. Raising his own chin, he glares at the Kingslayer. 

“Then talk, Kingslayer. Your life might depend on it. ” 

Jaime studies him, searching for the crack, for the lie in Robb’s face. But he’s not lying, he’s truly not. He does want to know how Jaime knows about Rhaenys -  _ Robb’s _ Rhaenys - and what other things he wants to know. 

“What do I get in return for talking?” Jaime asks. 

“How about another day alive?” Robb answers, and Grey Wind growls next to him, baring his teeth. Jaime flinches slightly and Robb smirks. “It’s more than you deserve.” 

“You might change your mind after what I am about to tell you.” He clears his throat, his eyes dropping to his lap. Robb crosses his arms, ready to listen. “Your father must have told you about Robert’s rebellion, how it started obviously, no one knows that better than the Starks after all. Everyone knows about King Aerys, the Mad King, and your grand father and uncle’s demise,” Jaime dares to glance at Robb, “I did feel a sense of justice when I put a sword through his back.” 

“Justice for my grandfather and uncle? Is this how you manage to sleep at night?” Robb can’t help but interrupt. Jaime only chuckles dryly. 

“I had only met your uncle once, but you sure do look like him.” Jaime’s eyes focus back on him. “You have the same determination slipping out of you with every move. He was very brave, they both were, on that day. I remembered their faces when the Mad King started losing his mind for good.” 

“It doesn’t excuse the fact that you murdered the king you had sworn to protect.”

Jaime shakes his head. “ No, I suppose not. But when your king places wildfire in the streets of the city, threatening citizens’ lives, and ask you to bring your father’s head, and to bring him his daughter in law and her children, what do you do? Which vow do you fulfill? Who do you listen? So when he started to yell to burn them all, that’s all he could say, burn them all, burn them all, burn them all, for hours, what was I supposed to do? Watch everyone burn and stay silent?

“No. I was never raised to be obedient, Stark. So I drew my sword and planted it in his back, and slit his throat to make sure he was truly dead. But I knew that wouldn’t be enough. I knew that Elia and her children were in danger. I know my father that much.. But I was too late..The Mountain had already gotten to Elia and the little Aegon by the time I got to their quarters. But Rhaenys.. I could hear her crying in her room. She was only three.. And she was about to get killed simply because of who her father was.. I guess in a way she and I are similar.”

“You’re not even close.” Robb spats out and he bites his tongue for speaking so fast, but his heart couldn’t handle someone like the Kingslayer comparing himself to someone as perfect as Rhaenys. 

Jaime tilts his head and smirks. “So you’ve met her?” A chuckle and Robb wants to launch at him and connect his fist with his jaw and rip at his jaw. “ I am sure she’s grown into a beautiful woman now.. It was hard to get her to come with me, at some point I really thought the Mountain would get us both, but I got her out from under her bed, she was still holding her little cat, her Balerion, and then I got her to Varys. Told him to get her on the smallest ship to Dorne, and to never speak of this to anyone.” 

Robb processes the words and they start to make sense in his brain, and his heart beats faster when he finally understands. The man standing in front of him, tied up to a pole, saved hundreds of thousands lives, saved Rhaenys, the woman he loves. 

“Bet you’ve never heard that side of the story, have you?” Jaime asks, and Robb wants nothing more than to hurt him right now, to scream at him, he wants to jump forward and tear at Jaime’s throat and feel his blood on his tongue and the life slip out of him. Something snaps inside of him and he feels like a beast has taken over, and it takes him a second to realize that Grey Wind has walked closer to Jaime, teeth bared menacingly and that all colour has left Jaime’s face. 

Robb sighs, forcing his heart to slow down and his anger to go away. Grey Wind comes back to his side, and Robb’s fingers find their place in his fur again. “I suppose you have one more day to live on this earth.” 

And with that, he turns around, and leaves the cell. He closes the door himself and watches as the guard wrap the chains around it and lock it. “No one is to visit him.” Robb orders. “Absolutely no one.” The guard nods and Robb leaves, Grey Wind following him. His skin itches with the feeling of new found truth, his heart feels heavy and it feels like his whole world has shifted with this new information. He wonders if that’s why Rhaenys found it difficult to talk to him about what happened to her.. is it really because she feels indebted to him, a Lannister, the people Robb has sworn to destroy? Robb rubs his temple, a headache coming, questions and insecurities creeping their way in, and he finds himself wishing Rhaenys was with him right now. if she were, maybe she could help. He knows the sight of her would make his headache go away. But it’s a gift he can’t have right now so he’ll settle for the next thing. 

  
  


**Sansa**

  
  


It’s strange to be in the godswood without Jon, but he had been so engrossed in his reading that she hadn’t wanted to disturb him. She remembers the pout he had given her when she had asked if he wanted to accompany her, his eyes barely leaving the book he was reading. Something about the Blackfyre Rebellion. She loves that he’s looking into his Targaryen heritage more, and that Lord Varys seems to help him with that. Jon has taken the habit of always bringing one of the book Varys lends him wherever he goes, and in the evening, he’ll read to her, sitting by the window sill while she brushes her hair. Sometimes, he’ll stop and just stares at her, a small smile forming on his lips, and she’d stare back through the looking glass, mirroring his smile. It’s her favorite moments. These moments of peace, of quiet, of new found safety. She lives for those. 

She wishes they could be like this all the time, out in the open. She wishes for another world, where Jon and her are together, without complications or wars to separate them. A world where they love each other and that’s all that matters. A world where she’s safe with her family, where her father is alive and where all her siblings are with her and they’re safe back in Winterfell. 

She’s startled by the sound of someone clearing their throat. She turns around to find Margeary looking at her. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” The young girl says, her voice sweet and elegant in every way a lady’s voice should be. 

“You didn’t..” Sansa is quick to reassure her. 

Margeary asks the two soldiers to leave them, and when they don’t move, threatens to have Joffrey talk to them himself. Only then do they leave, and Sansa wonders if Margeary likes to have that much power over people. 

“What did you pray for?” Margeary teases. 

Sansa sees the mischievous glint in her doe eyes and for a second, she almost feels like she could confide in her, that her secrets would be safe with Margeary, but then she remembers that she once thought she could confide in the queen too, and that Joffrey could be kind. She remembers that every one could be an enemy, every one could stab her in the back. So she offers a soft smile and shakes her head. “I can’t tell you.” 

Margeary pouts and proceeds to link her arm with Sansa’s and tell her what she prayed for. Her tone of voice doesn’t lose its mischief but she almost sounds so genuine that Sansa is tempted to believe her. But then Margeary invents this story about her cousin Alanna and Sansa truly wonders if every word coming out of Margeary’s mouth is a careful planned lie. Can someone so comfortable with lying be trusted? 

They’ve reached a little area on the coast and Sansa reminds herself to take Jon here soon, thinking he’ll like it, there’s a clear view of the bay and she thinks he’ll like how peaceful it is. Margeary breaks her train of thought by grabbing her hands, and turning Sansa to look at her. “I want us to be friends, Sansa. Good friends. I’d hate it if there was any animousity between us.” 

Sansa searches for the truth in her eyes. Is Margeary trying to play her? So she can use her at her pleasure? Slowly, Sansa puts her walls up and remembers what her mother taught her all these years ago.  _ Courtesy is a lady’s armor _ . “I’d love that too.” She answers, thinking maybe being close to Margeary will teach her how to lie so expertly too. 

“You must see Highgarden! You and your cousin Jon, you both have to visit it, you’d love it there, I know you would” Margeary exclaims, squeezing Sansa’s fingers, and for a second, Sansa is almost afraid that Margeary knows, knows about Jon and her. No one is supposed to know, but Margeary proves to be very sneaky. Could it be? Could she know? 

Sansa tries to think of a way of diffusing the situation and to bring Margeary’s focus away. “I don’t think the Queen will let me leave King’s Landing..” She trails off, praying that Margeary catches her bait.

“The Queen Regent you mean?” Sansa has to fight a grin. “When I marry Joffrey, _ I  _ will be queen.” Margeary continues and Sansa smiles, nodding along. “And if you were to marry Loras..” 

Sansa’s smiles falters for a quick second. She laid the bait and Margeary caught on but now, she’s biting Sansa back and her grip is strong. But Sansa realizes that if Margeary proposes a betrothal to Loras, it is to have a grip on her. Then, she won’t be the Lannister’s hostage but the Tyrell’s. Sure, she would be safe, but what about Jon? Maybe she could convince them to let him come with her. She can play along, she thinks, she can play them. Plus, she doesn’t have to marry Loras. She has only seen him twice, the first time being years ago and the second only days ago. She doubts he’ll agree to it. 

“We would be sisters you and I.” Margeary continues. “Would you like that?” 

Sansa thinks of Arya, somewhere, hopefully not alone, she thinks of her strong little sister who never backed away from a challenge, she thinks of that day on the Kingsroad, when Arya threatened Joffrey even though he was only a prince then and how she still defended Micha.  _ I can be strong like her _ , Sansa thinks, _ I can be as brave as her, like a she wolf, like a Stark _ . So she nods, and hopes she’s good enough at pretending that Margeary can’t see it. She can do this. She’s a Stark and she has wolf’s blood running through her veins. Her brother is at war for her, she can play the game too. She can do this. 

  
  


**Rhaenys**

  
  


It’s a particular hot and sunny day on Sunspear, and Rhaenys finds herself patting the back of her neck often. She’s leaning against the small balcony railing, watching as Myrcella recites what she’s just learned. Once she’s done, she looks up to Doran, who’s watching her with a patient look on his face. 

“You were mistaken for two herbs, but other than that you were right.” He says, a small smile playing on his lips. Rhaenys finds the image so familiar, not so long ago, she was the young girl sitting on a small canopy looking up at Doran, desperately looking for approval. She hasn’t been on that canopy for weeks, hasn’t had a proper conversation with Doran in weeks, a part of her misses it. He is the father she never had after all. 

Myrcella pouts sadly at her small failure, and Rhaenys’s heart lurches for her. “It’s alright, Myrcella.” She’s quick to reassure the little girl. She comes to sit down next to her. “You’ve just started, in no time, you’ll be as good as a true Dorne-born.” It’s a lie. Myrcella could never be a true Dornish girl, even years of training couldn’t do that to her. She would never be accepted as one, anyway. It doesn’t matter if she marries Trystane, the Dornish would never take her as their own. She almost feels sad for the little girl, but then remembers who her parents are, who her family is. The Lannisters only care about themselves. Why should Rhaenys feel bad for them now?

Myrcella’s cheeks finds some of their color back and Rhaenys smiles back at her, trying to appear as genuine as possible. Light footsteps are heard and soon enough, Arianne appears, a bright smile on her face. She’s wearing her loose dress that Rhaenys knows is for dancing rehearsals. 

“My beautiful family, do you mind if I borrow our little lion for some time?” Arianna greets everyone, her hands already grasping at Myrcella’s. “Rhaen’, are you coming?” 

Rhaenys nods gladly, about to stand up with Myrcella but Doran speaks up. “Actually, Rhaenys, would you mind staying for a minute?” 

Rhaenys sees the glance Arianne gives her, but it’s already gone and she’s leading Myrcella out of the balcony. “ Come little lion, this will give me time to teach you about why the harvest dance is so important..” Arianne’s voice trails off and Rhaenys remains on the small canopy. Doran waits for Arianne and Myrcella to leave the terrace and adjacent room and for the door has closed behind them to turn to her. His face is as it always is, solemn and unreadable, but his eyes are kind as he looks at her. She remembers the first time she saw him. He had been the one to greet her on the pier, when the boat carrying her reached Sunspear. He was standing then, and he had looked at her with the same kindness as he does now. She wonders what he saw back then, if he saw her as a fragile, vulnerable orphan that could be played, a pawn on his chess board, or a part of his family. 

“How are you doing, sweetling?” Doran asks after some time. “We haven’t talked properly in a few days.” 

“Have you missed me, uncle?” Rhaenys teases, and it’s so childish of her, how she desperately wants to hear him say  _ yes _ , how she wants his affection and love. 

Doran chuckles at her and extends a hand towards her, beckoning her closer. She raises from the canopy almost immediately, and drops to her knees in front of him. Again, it’s just like when she was a child and he would read to her at night. She would drop to her knees, and place her head on his lap and listen to him for hours. She doesn’t drop her head to his lap but she keeps his hands in hers, and listens. 

“Of course I have. I miss our little moments. You’re a second daughter to me.” One of his hands push away a rebellious strand of dark hair from her forehead. “You seemed quiet these days. How are you doing? Is it the little princess’s presence that’s troubling you?” 

Rhaenys’ eyes drop slightly. She wishes Doran wasn’t so good at reading her. But then again, how does she hide things from the man who raised her? 

“I’m fine uncle, do not worry about me. I’m perfectly fine.” Her voice is far from being convincing, she knows, and the look Doran gives her tells her he’s far from believing her. But he doesn’t push it. He never pushes her to open up and for that she’s extremely thankful. 

“A raven came this morning. An invitation.” 

“To what?” She frowns, but she’s relieved that it’s a raven with good news, and not announcing bad ones. Her mind goes to Robb, off fighting a war for his family, and her hearts tightens in her chest. 

“To Joffrey Baratheon’s wedding to Margeary Tyrell.” 

Rhaenys can’t help the scoff she lets out. “ The false king..” She bites her tongue for speaking so freely, but Doran doesn’t comment on it. 

“He invites me, but I think of sending Arianne and Quentyn in my name, with Oberyn away.” He says instead. She frowns more, confused. 

“You really are thinking of sending our family to the wedding of the people who hurt us?” She doesn’t mean for her voice to be so loud and offensive but she can’t help it. She thinks of Aegon, her defenseless little brother, she thinks of her mother’s screams, she thinks of the blood stained white cloak tight in her small hands as the man carries her away, down the endless corridors, down to the secret pier. 

“We have to keep the appearance that we’re still on their side.” Doran explains and she groans, knowing he’s right. 

“Don’t you think they’ll take it as a slight that you send your children instead of your brother? Won’t they ask where Oberyn is?” She pushes. 

Doran only smirks but it’s full of spite and there’s nothing joyful about it. “They should be happy we even consider coming. With all our history, they should consider themselves happy that we’re hosting their child and go to this wedding.” The words come out with so much venom, and she’s even more surprised to see a hint of anger in his eyes. Doran, her ever so patient uncle, looks furious right now. 

She sighs and drops her chin against his leg. He flinches slightly and it startles her. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” 

He rubs the spot she was leaning on a second ago and shakes his head but she sees the lingering pain on his face. “No, no, you didn’t. Argh..” 

“Have you seen the Maester lately?” She questions, worry suddenly filling her. “Is it the gout again?” 

He shakes his head, but he’s not meeting her eyes again which indicates her she’s right. “Don’t worry about me child. I am not about to let a silly disease get me.” But the pain doesn’t leave his features and for the first time, Rhaenys finds herself scared to lose him. Ever since she arrived here, Doran has been a constant in her life, always here for her with whatever she needs. She can’t imagine this place without him. “ You should go to Arianne and rehearse for the harvest dance.” 

She should, yes, but she shakes her head. She leans her head gently against the chair and takes his hand in hers, her fingers tracing circles on the skin. “No. I want to hear a story. Will you tell me one?” 

She can’t see it but she feels his weak fingers squeezing hers, and she hears his smile when he speaks next. “Sure, which one would you want to hear?” 

  
  
  


Later, when the sun has set, and the palace is quiet, she’s sitting in her room, at her desk. A piece of parchment lays in front of her. She thinks of the words she wants to write. She thinks of all the anger she has inside of her. She thinks of her mother, her sweet mother, whose only fault was to love a man who was obsessed with a prophecy. She remembers what her mother once said when Rhaenys had asked where was her father.  _ He’s trying to be a god _ , she had said. Rhaenys hadn’t understood then.  _ Will he come back? _ she had asked, she could still feel the tears that had fallen on her cheeks. Her mother had smiled, a sad smile that hadn’t reached her eyes, and said  _ probably not _ . And it was true, wasn’t it. Rhaenys had never seen her father again. Her mother and little brother had been killed because of that, because her father had tried to play at being a god. And in the end, he has lost, and bringing them down with him. 

She thinks of Doran, who tried so hard to avenge them, his family,  _ her family _ , and how years later, a vengeance seems so close, but so far away. She thinks of her sweet little brother, who would never be able to marry anyone, who would never ride a horse or train with a spear. She thinks of Oberyn’s wrath when she arrived on Sunspear and his promise to avenge his sister. She thinks of Doran who so carefully planned for their downfall but who might not live to see it happening. Sniffing slightly, she grabs her quill and drops it in her ink jet. She writes the words carefully, using her nice penmanship, hoping that at least if this first imporession will be a good one to create a bond. Once she’s done, she rereads the words again and again, until she knows them by heart. 

The walk to the maester’s tower is a short one, but she makes sure she stays quiet. She ties the message to a small raven and lets it loose from the window, with a wish of safe journey. She hopes the message reaches who she intends it for. She needs it to, and he does too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated !   
> I've changed my twitter handle so now it's @ taehmikrokosmos ( i've started stanning bts this month lol ) and come talk to me on tumblr @ rhaenmarteII ! I love you all


	15. Chapter 15 - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you're doing okay! Today I give you, Part 1 of chapter 15, a very short first part, but I chose to cut it here, at that particular moment because 1. it was going to be a way too long Robb's pov otherwise, 2. the events of the enxt part happen almost at the same time as the events of this first part and i still have trouble trying to organize the timeline of events so I feel like right now, this might work but I am still not sure. 
> 
> I know I kinda left you guys with a cliffhanger with the last chapter, and this part might not be different, but I promise you, you're getting answers soon. Trust. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this short robb solo pov. I love you all, take care of yourselves.

**Robb**

  
  


The ground under him is cold. He can smell the lingering fragrance of rain in the morning air, the silent castle behind him. The grass is still wet from the pour of the last of few days. He is so glad he can finally go outside after so long. Feeling the earth under him is so nice that he barely feels the cold. He misses the cold, so it’s more than welcome, but they’re not North anymore, they’re not home, but at least they’re together and that’s comfort enough. 

He walks for a while, not really following anything, he’s hungry but not famished, but there’s something in the air, another smell, he can smell it faintly. It comes in small waves and it’s nothing he’s familiar with. He tries to follow it, but he looses it a couple of times but then he walks further, doesn’t know how long and then he catches a whiff of it and it’s stronger. Going faster but still staying alert, the scent grows more and more prominent as he goes on, until he’s almost at the end of the woods, and suddenly, it’s everywhere. 

The scent is all around him, and his eyes take a moment to find the source, but in the distance he sees a large gathering of men. Displays of red and yellow banners strike him and he wants to go closer, figure out what this is. 

  
  


Robb wakes up suddenly, his body feeling cold and sore, even though he’s under his fur covers, in his bed, in his heated room, in Riverrun. It takes him a minute to remember though, he has to look around, a hand over his chest to calm down his racing heart. “Grey Wind..” He whispers. Being in his wolf’s skin after so long had felt strange but waking back in his own skin feels even stranger. He can still feel the wet soil under his fingers as if he had touched it himself. And what he had seen.. His brain remembers and a sense of urgency fills him. He has to let everyone know. 

  
  


“You’re sure you saw them? Lannister men?” Oberyn asks once he’s woken up every one. His mother, his great uncle Brynden and his uncle Edmure, Theon, Great Jon Umber and Oberyn are all there. They’re gathered in the dining hall of Riverrun, where his late grandfather sure held many feasts and gatherings, but right now, there’s a tension in the room and he bets everyone feels it. His eyes are set on the carved map in front of him, the wooden pieces displaying their position as well as other houses. His whole body feels like it’s not his, and his mind goes to Grey Wind who has yet to come back. Robb knows he’s safe, he does, can feel it in his bones, but still, there’s an uneasiness about not having his companion next to him. A part of him wishes Jon was here too, a voice inside keeps telling him  _ he should be here _ , but then he remembers that Jon is with Sansa, and that at least his sister is safer in a way. 

“Yes.” Robb nods for what seems like the hundredth time. “I want a scout to go and see for themselves and give us an approximate number of how much of them there is. If it’s the Mountain’s men, we need to be ready..” 

“I’ll send one of my men right away.” His uncle Brynden speaks up. Robb bows his head in thanks, and Brynden mirrors him before exiting the room. 

“Oberyn, how soon can you get your spearsmen ready?” Robb asks, turning to Oberyn.

“As soon as you give us the call.” Oberyn answers. 

Robb thinks about it for a second. If the Mountain brought his troops all the way here, to the riverlands, that means he probably already knows about the presence of the spearsmen and maybe even the Martell alliance. Another kind of fear settles within him. What if they know about Rhaenys too? What if something happens to her, because he took the dornish troops with them to Riverrun? Is his loyalty to his family going to cost him his love? He prays that it doesn’t. 

“Get them ready now. If we move quickly, there’s a chance that we can take them by surprise. If they’ve come this way, this far, it means they’re hungry for a fight. He’s a reckless dog without a strategic thought in his head, so he probably won’t think that we know. He thinks he has the upper hand so we have to use it to our own advantage. ” 

Everyone around the table nods at him. “Dorne has a personal revenge with Sir Clegane. It’ll be my pleasure to plant my spear in his eye and twist it out of the back of his skull.” 

Robb doesn’t miss how Edmure flinches at Oberyn’s words but he understands. He nods at Oberyn. “The mountain is yours. Tell your men we take no prisoners this time. If one Lannister escapes, they’ll know that Dorne is our ally and then your family will be in danger too.” 

“That won’t happen, trust me.” Oberyn confirms, and with a slight bow he leaves the room too. 

Edmure watches him leave then turns to Robb. “Do you really trust him? And his men?” 

Robb turns to him. “ With my life. If you don’t feel like you can, you can sit this one down, uncle.” He means his voice to be harsh, he needs Edmure to understand that he won’t accept half-trusts here. 

“My apologies, Your Grace. Of course, I trust your judgement, so if you say they’re with us, then they are.” 

“Good. Now get yourself and your men ready. We hit at dawn.” 

“Yes Your Grace.” Edmure leaves and Theon follows him too. Only Catelyn remains in the room. She hasn’t said a word ever since the meeting started. Robb looks at her, waiting for her to speak. He desperately needs her to speak, to say anything right now. He knows she is still saddened by her father’s death, and that maybe, being here, in her former home, where she must hold so many happy memories, must feel strange to her, with all these talks of war and battle planning.

“Are you sure about this?” She asks him after a moment passes, raising her blue eyes, the same as his, to him. Robb could lie, he could say that yes, he is sure about this, but he doesn’t feel like lying right now. He still feels cold, even with the fire roaring in the hearth in the room, still feels like he's miles away from Riverrun, with wet grass under him. But slowly, he nods, and Catelyn glances at the map once again. “If you win this.. you could win the war.”

“I know..” He could also loose and die, and never see his family again. But he doesn’t want to think about this outcome right now. 

She turns to him fully, studying him, and her eyes are so kind, so gentle, that he’s left unsettled for a second. She has to look up at him now, and it occurs to him that they’ve been away from home for so long. He thinks about Bran, and Rickon, and how much they must have grown. 

“After this, you can go home.” He says. “After I win this battle,” and he really prays that he does win, “you can go home and take care of Bran and Rickon. They need you too.” 

Tears well up in his mother’s eyes, and he brings her into his chest before he can see them fall. He doesn’t want his last memory of her to be one of her crying, so he wraps his arms around her, and lets his leather vest catch the salty tears. 

  
  
  


The sun peeks through the hills and Robb is on his horse, his men at his sides and back. Oberyn is on foot, along with his spearmen, and Robb admits they look glorious in their bright orange coat, a sharp contrast to the green scenery of the riverlands and the northern men all dressed in grey and black. There’s a tense silence, like time is standing still, waiting too, for the moment. Grey Wind and Ghost join him at the front, they look majestuous, the two massive direwolves at his sides, and Robb can’t help but wonder if Ghost feels the absense of Jon as deeply as he does.  _ Probably more, _ he thinks,  _ does Jon feel it too _ ? he asks himself. He shakes the thought away, choosing to focus on the battle ahead. He can see the camp from his spot, and they don’t seem to have a clue of the northern cold that is about to fall upon them. But as he’s sitting on the back of his horse, about to ride into battle, Grey Wind at his side, he’s taken over by the thought that Jon really  _ should  _ be here, like he’s hit by a wave and then he’s underwater and there’s water in his lungs and he’s trying to keep his heartbeat from racing out of his chest but the air is scarce and his throat is tight. He could try to scream but that’s not what leaders do. That’s not what  _ kings _ do. So he marches on taking the lead, and the more distance he erases between him and potential death, the more water fills him, and only then, only when his sword pierces through a body of iron does he allow his throat to open up, and more water comes in but it doesn’t hurt anymore. It’s a familiar feeling by now, like the palm of his mother at the back of his head , like Sansa’s laugh as he chases her. It’s Arya’s little frown and Bran’s smile and Rickon’s messy hair. It’s Jon’s grey eyes and Grey’s Wind fur between his fingers. It’s Rhaenys’s hand in the crook of his elbow in the dornish sun. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So any thoughts? :)


	16. Chapter 15 part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello wonderful people! I hope you're all doing well in this nice saturday morning/afternoon/whenever you're reading this! First of all, thank you to everyone reading this story, and I deeply apologise for the irregularity of the updates, I really want to post more regularly but work is hard rn and my irl life isn't the best rn so I am trying to juggle everything while having a sane mental health which has proven to be difficult for me. So please, be gentle with me. I hope this chapter, which is longer than I meant to but I just couldn't stop writing, makes up for it. 
> 
> We got some light action, some nice fluff moment, and some light mature content. So I hope you are good with that. As always, I love reading your comments and your support means the world so feel free to tell me what you think of it :)

**Robb**

Robb moves through the crowd, covered in blood, pushing the men weaving his way to the front. Grunts can be heard and if the words that came to him are true, he’s almost afraid to get to the front. It only takes him another minute and nothing could have prepared him for the sight in front of him. 

Oberyn is almost standing on top of the Mountain’s lifeless body, a giant of a man, blood pouring out of him freely, and Oberyn, the lean tall warrior, slashing him with his spear with fast and precise movements. Robb had caught a few glances of him during the battle, and admiration had taken place then. He knows now why the man is called The Red Viper. Oberyn had shown no mercy on the battlefield and he isn’t showing any now. He seems to be whispering something, like a chant as he’s repeatedly piercing Gregor Clegane’s body.

“You raped her.. You murdered her.. You killed her child..” The words come to him and Robb feel a pang of sadness for the poor man. He can’t help but understand, if he had Joffrey or Ser Illyn Payne in front of him right now.. Robb can’t say if he’d resist the urge to kill them both. So he does understand Oberyn, but right now, the man looks overtaken by fury and Robb needs to stop it. 

  
  


The crowd stands still, no one moving as Robb makes his way towards Oberyn. The dornish man doesn’t even register him coming closer. Robb stops a few feet away from him. This close, he can see tears on Oberyn’s cheeks, and Robb’s heart breaks. 

“Oberyn..” Robb calls. But the man doesn’t answer. “Oberyn!” Robb calls louder and this time Oberyn stops mid-movement. His chest is heaving up and down with exhaustion and Robb extends his hand towards him. Oberyn stares at him, like he’s looking at Robb for the first time. “It’s over.. He’s dead. You did it.” 

Oberyn turns back to stare at the still body under him, and seems to realize that yes, The Mountain, Ser Clegane is indeed dead. He steps away from the body, grabbing Robb’s hand as he does to steady himself. Robb’s other hand comes to the older man’s neck and turn his face towards him, so he’s not looking at Clegane’s body anymore. “Your family is avenged today. You did it. It’s over.” 

Oberyn’s deep brown eyes searches his and Robb doesn’t lower his gaze. Something crosses the deep brown eyes looking back at him and then Oberyn’s head falls on his shoulder, his body slumping with exhaustion and Robb keeps his hand steady on his future uncle in law, hoping that it’s a steady anchor to reality. 

  
  
  


It’s late at night when he finally sits down at the desk, a long piece of parchment in front of him, silence and quiet finally surrounding him after a day of looking after his men and making sure that no Lannisters soldier had escaped. Though he’s sure that Tywin Lannister will learn of his other victory soon enough. But he’ll let Tywin know in the morning, right now, he’s the last thing on his mind. Robb grabs the quill and dips it into his inket and pauses, trying to collect his thought and not spill them all on the paper. 

_ To Rain,  _

_ We won a battle today. An unexpected one, but a victory nonetheless. Your uncle is alive and well, with the relief of knowing his family and the memory of his late sister and nephew is avenged. I hope this brings some solace to you too, my love. Knowing that now, perhaps, your mother and brother’s souls can finally rest in peace after Dorne fought for justice.  _

_ Blame the late hour or maybe the exhaustion in my bones after a long day, but I find myself wishing you were here to witness it. A gore thought I reckon, I wouldn’t want you anywhere near a battlefield, but there’s a part of me that wishes you could have been the first face I saw as I rode back to the castle. I have a feeling you would like the Riverlands, it’s of course very different from Dorne, but the scenery is beautiful. And having you here would only embelish it further.  _

_ But knowing you are safe back in Dorne is comfort enough and that should be all I can allow myself for now. I really pray to the Gods, the Old and the New, that you are safe and healthy and that the sun always finds its way to you.  _

_ I can’t wait to be with you again.  _

_ Yours truly,  _




He rereads it a few times, hoping his candor won’t make her uncomfortable. But his heart can’t help the way it feels, and writing them feels easier somehow; he’s not entirely sure he would have been able to say all of this to her if she had been standing in front of him. He folds the parchment carefully, and wraps it with a leather band before sealing it with the Riverrun stamp. He has just risen from his chair when a loud banging startles him. He turns sharply towards the door, which opens revealing Theon, out of breath.

“Your Grace..Robb, I .. Arya ..”

Robb frowns and leaves the letter on the desk for now. “What?” 

“She’s.. Come..” Theon lets out in a shaky breath and he gestures for Robb to follow him, which he does. They’re running through the long corridors, but Robb’s body freezes when he sees Arya.

_ Arya.  _

His heart bursts in his chest at the sight. His lady mother is here, and she’s hugging Arya to her, tightly, and Robb can see that she’s crying as she holds the little girl. Her hair is short, he notices, and her clothes, they’re boy’s clothes, and she does look like a boy, but the eyes, the Stark grey eyes, they’re hers. It’s Arya. His little Arya, and he wants to cry. How many times had he dreamed of this moment, of being finally reuniting with his little sister? Too many to count, but the dream always stayed in the back of his mind. He feels awful then, for not looking for her, for not caring enough about her safety. His baby sister, all alone in the wild country.. 

Lady Catelyn lets Arya go and the small girl finally sets eyes on Robb and they’re the same, yes, these are her eyes, it’s her and Robb can’t help it now. He runs to her and engulfs her in his arms and lets himself cry. He feels her little hands tighten in fists in his back and he doesn’t let go of her. His hand craddling the back of her head, finally, after so long, too long, and another puzzle piece fits and he’s a little more complete right now, knowing a piece of his family has finally returned to them. 

  
  


**Sansa**

  
  


The sun has set a while ago on King’s Landing, Shae has left her for the night, after her supper, and now Sansa is waiting for Jon to sneak through her window, like every night. He’s a little late tonight, she’s finished brushing her hair, and now she’s braiding it when he arrives. He’s a little out of breath, and sometimes she wonders if it’s not too risky to have him sneak through her window like this. But when he looks like this, his face slightly flushed and his eyes darker, with a cheeky smile plastered on his face, she can’t find herself to refuse him anything. 

He jumps from the window sill, barely making a sound with his feet, like a cat. She turns to him sideways, and he sends her a smile, not the first one today and probably not the last one either, and she returns it. 

“You look so beautiful like this.” He says, in a whisper, probably more to himself than anything and she would lie saying she doesn’t like the fondness she finds in his eyes. 

She rolls her eyes at him, but her smile doesn’t fade. “You’re just saying that.”

“Even if I was, it doesn’t make it less true.” Jon shrugs and comes closer. He drops a soft kiss to her temple and then moves to her bed, dropping himself on it, kicking off his boots. He looks so at ease there, the usual frown on his forehead nowhere in sight, the corner of his lips still tugged upwards. He looks like he belongs there, and he does, he belongs with her, always and forever. She looks at him, the way his chest rises and falls, the way he seems so content. She wishes they could stay like this, forever, she wishes there was a way she could stop time, freeze them in this moment. 

“Do you think we’re happy in another life?” 

She looks at him and she wonders where the question comes from. What could have possibly prompted a question like this? “What do you mean?” She asks, frowning slightly. 

“Do you think there’s a possibility of other lives? Because I think there is, and maybe I am wrong, but I refuse to believe this is the only chance we have at being together..” His voice trails off, and he’s not looking at her anymore, staring up at the ceiling, seemingly deep in thought. “This can’t be it, right? All this sneaking around, playing a part.. it’s exhausting. There has to be a world where we get to love each other how we want.” 

Sansa’s heart cracks a little at his words. How long has he been thinking about this? Is this a new found thought? Has someone said something to him? She suddenly remembers Margeary’s proposal a few days ago. Has Jon heard about it? Sansa hopes he hasn’t. She still has yet to tell him, and she had pushed it back for as long as she could, but now.. She adverts her eyes and turns back to her looking glass. Another life.. Another life where they can be together? Freely, with no wars and no family complications? Sansa hopes there’s one. One where she doesn’t have to marry someone else in order for them to be somewhat free. 

She hadn’t really thought about it to be honest, she had heard Margeary say the words and thought that  _ yes _ , she could do it. Anything to get Jon and her out of here, and the fastest the better. But now she’s thinking about it, actually thinking about it, and what that would mean, and she doesn’t want it. She doesn’t think she can go willingly into a masquerade. Because that’s what it would be. A masquerade. There’s no way she would ever love anyone else other than Jon. No, that’s just not possible. She had tried loving Joffrey, and look how that turned out. Loras didn’t seem the Joffrey kind, but then, Joffrey hadn’t seem mean and cruel either at first, and he had still taken her father’s head when she had begged him for mercy. 

“What’s wrong?” Jon asks. She turns back to him and finds him half sitting up, propped up bon his elbow. She wants to smile at the fact that he can tell something’s wrong, in the past she used to relish in the fact that they always seem to be connected on a mental level. But right now she wishes it wasn’t that way. She wishes she was better at lying and deceiving him but she isn’t. She shakes her head, not wanting to worry him and starts picking at the end of her braid, but Jon speaks up again. “Sans’? Tell me.” 

It’s not a demanding tone, Jon had never been like that with her, but she hears the seriousness in his voice. She knows she has to be honest, if only for their sake, so they can get used to the idea faster. She remembers the time when Jon had left for The Wall when her betrothal to Joffrey had been announced. She had hated him then, thought him selfish for it, but now she sees why. What wouldn’t we do for the people we love? 

“Lady Margeary has suggested a betrothal.” She says simply, still not looking at him. 

Jon only sighs. “I am not marrying one of her cousins.” 

Sansa chuckles, though there’s no humour in it. She sighs. “It’s not for you..” She waits, knowing it’s coming. An angry Jon is a rare sight, and she has only seen him that way twice in her whole life. Each time, it had never been directed at her, and she had always been the one to calm him, ease the hard lines on his face. Will he let her calm him down even then? 

“Who?” Thunder. It’s calmer than she expects, but Jon has always been the calm type when he’s angry, like a winter storm forming, it’s quiet, you only notice it too late, when the dark clouds are already on their way, and you know thunder is coming but rain usually comes right after and there’s nothing you can do except hoping it’ll spare you. Jon isn’t the type that spares. 

“Loras Tyrell.” An image of the Knight of Flowers comes to mind and she supposes it wouldn’t be so bad. He’s not that hard to look at and if he’s anything like Margeary, then she might have to brush up on her lying skills. 

Jon rises from her bed in a swift move and she really wonders if he isn’t a cat. He faces the wall and she can’t see his expression anymore, not even when she turns around on her chair, wishing the current distance between them didn’t exist. 

“Jon..” She tries, but she doesn’t miss the way his back tenses up, and she wants to cross the space beween them and undo the tension but you never go towards lightning. 

_ Lightning _ . He turns to her, and it’s a sight, he’s a sight in this candle-lit room, eyes serious and so dark she’s never seen him like this, and for a second she’s almost afraid but then she remembers that this is Jon, he’s hers and she’s his and he’ll never hurt her, he’s here for her, he’ll do anything for her, and his words are only confirmation. 

“Let’s run away. Let’s go. Right now, if we leave right now, we can get a few hours before they realize we’re gone and we can find Robb and we’ll be fine..”  _ Rain _ . Words pour out of him and Sansa is drenched, overwhelmed by the flow and she looks at him, wishing he’d stop, because she doesn’t to drown, but when it comes to Jon, she’ll accept anything coming from him. 

“Jon.” She stands up and they move together, like two pieces who are inevitably meant to fit together, like two snowflakes always falling on the same pattern, and his hands are craddling her face, and she’s fisting her hands in his vest, holding on like a lifeline. “We can’t,” she says and it hurts her as much as it hurts him but one of them has to be reasonable, “they’d find us and this time they’d kill us, you know they would.” 

She thinks about the guard outside of her door, and the one outside of Jon’s bedroom. She wonders if they know, that one is guarding an empty bedroom and that Jon is here with her, speaking potential treason and a certain death. 

“I won’t let them.” He says, and his voice is a whisper against her lips, she can feel his ragged breathing against her skin. Warm, shaky, but there. “I won’t let him or anyone have you. You’re mine. Mine.” 

Her heart lurches in her chest with a fondness she can’t describe. There’s something about hearing something you know already, having it professed to you in such a confident way that makes it different. Yes, she’s Jon’s. She’s been his for as long as she can physically remember. 

She’s about to speak but Jon doesn’t let her. His lips crash onto hers and she’s so taken aback that for a second she doesn’t react. Jon pulls away too fast and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen him like this. There’s a new emotion written on his beautiful features, his eyes seem a darker shade and she thinks she’s crazy when she notices a shade of purple in there, but then Jon speaks again, his voice a deeper tone and it does something to her heart that she can’t explain. His hand tightens around the back of her neck and she doesn’t mind the small pain it brings, his fingers digging into her skin.

“You’re mine.” And then he kisses her again, and this time, it’s more gentle but his grip is possessive on her, and she pushes herself flush against him, wishing she could just melt against him and surround him completely. Her hands come up to burry themselves in his hair, and she tugs slowly at the nape of his neck and he groans in her mouth. For a minute, she thinks about the guard outside of her room, but then Jon bites her bottom lip and it’s forgotten. If she has to be caught, let it be in the hands of her lover. They have to pull away for air at one point and their chest are heaving with shaky waves of breath and it makes her smile, how flushed Jon looks, almost flustered, all because of her. 

“I love you.” He whispers softly. And of course she knows, has known for a long time, but he says it so simply, not waiting for an answer, just his words needing to be understood. Those three words, spoken so softly against her lips, like he’s talking about the simplest of things, but still. He looks at her like she holds the world in her hands, like he needs her to live, and when he looks at her like that, with so much love in his eyes and seeping from his hands, she wants to believe him. 

She doesn’t answer, only kisses him again, and this time it’s soft and she feels his tense shoulders melt under her, and she brings him to the bed. He stops her before she can lay him there, his eyes searching hers. She tugs his hand towards her, beckoning him closer, but he remains still. “Are you sure?” He asks, and she doesn’t comment on the way his voice is shaking slightly. 

She nods against his lips. “If I have to marry someone else to save us, I want you to be the first to have me.” And it’s painful, the look in Jon’s eyes before he kisses her again, fully and full of need and want, the way she answers back with equal emotions. She brings him to the bed and he lays on top of her, his hands roaming gently over her body and his fingers taking their time before finding her bare skin. She never says it at loud but she’s thankful for him to be so kind and gentle then, she thanks him for making this memory a sweet one, one she’ll be able to go back to whenever the lying mask would crumble. 

And it is a sweet one, Jon being his ever kind self to her, always asking her if she is okay and if she likes what he’s doing - she does, very much - and if it doesn’t hurt her - at first yes, but he makes it better - and later when they’re both lying in bed, spent and sore, a layer of sweat sticking to both of their skin and she’s tracing the map of freckles that’s arboring his shoulders with her finger, he’ll tell her again. _ I love you _ . Three simple words but they fill her with warmth and there are butterflies in her stomach when he speaks and she buries her face in his neck, and presses her lips there, returning the words to him. It’s comfort in a way she’s never known. Knowing that someone in this world loves her, because of her, not because of the blood relation they share or because of her name, no, simply because they know her and chose to love her. In a world where your family name holds more power than anything, Sansa is thankful for Jon and his love. Even if she has to hide it in her heart forever. 

  
  


**Jon**

The sun must have been up for quite some time when he wakes up. His eyes squints at the bright light, and it takes him a moment to adjust. His whole body feels sore, but there’s a content feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. He sees Sansa’s bare body next to him, still asleep and he can’t help the smile growing on his lips. Memories of last night come back to him and part of him thinks he must have been dreaming. But then, he wouldn’t be laying in Sansa’s bed, feeling all warm and loved in the morning sunlight. For now, he wants to forget that they’re in King’s Landing, that they’re hostages in a lion’s den, that there’s a guard outside Sansa’s room, that he shouldn’t be here right now. He wants to forget all of that and only focus on now, this moment in this four walls, and how safe it feels. Like nothing could hurt them. 

Suddenly, the door knob rattles and the door opens. Jon freezes but then the door closes again, and he hears a sigh. 

“You’re going to get us all killed.” Shae says. Jon sits up, and he sees the disapproving look on her face. But there’s also a fond smile on her lips so Jon knows she doesn’t really mean it. 

Sansa stirs next to him and she stretches openly, like a cat waking up from a long nap and Jon watches her, and she looks so beautiful then, the sunlight hitting her skin in all the right places. If they were alone, he’d bend down and capture her lips again, but Shae’s there and she’s already laying out Sansa’s outfit so Jon supposes he’s going to have to leave to get back to his room too. He’s already dreading it. He doesn’t want to leave Sansa but then again, he’ll see her during the day so he supposes it’s fine for now. 

“Come on, get up, you have to go now before they found out you’re not in your room.” Shae tells him in a hushed tone, and it feels like a motherly scold, the kind he’s never had, and he almost wants to retort and tell her that he doesn’t care but that would be a lie. 

So he gets up from the bed, gathering his discarded clothing on the floor and proceeds to change himself quickly. Shae moves towards the bed, and nudges Sansa softly. “Sweet girl, you need to get up now.” 

Sansa groans and it makes Jon chuckle, but he hides it when Shae sends him a glare. Sansa manages to get up from the bed, and Jon adverts his eyes when her bare body leaves the sheets. He finishes getting ready, trying to discipline his messy curls but after a few minutes, he gives up. He needs a haircut badly. 

Jon is about to leave by way of the window, when a knock on the door comes. He freezes, and he doesn’t know why he turns to Shae so suddenly, and she looks at him with an urgent look. “Go.” She mouthes, and he nods, already pulling himself up to get on the window sill. “One minute!” Shae calls, and Jon glances back one last time before he conceals himself on the small part of the castle. He stays still, listening, afraid that if he moves even one inch, they’ll find him and that would be it. He hears little footsteps and Sansa’s voice comes clear to him. 

“Lord Tyrion, good morning.” Her voice is sweet and gentle, like he knows she rehearses it to be. 

“Good morning, my lady. Lady Shae.’ A pause. Jon frowns. What is Tyrion doing here? Why is he visiting Sansa? Sansa had never mentioned him much. “I … I am afraid I don’t come with the greatest of news.”

Jon’s heart speeds in his chest. Does he come with news of Robb? For a second, Jon can only hear the frantic beating of his heart like a drum in his ears, deafening in the way a vase shattering on the floor is. 

“I was made to inform you that.. this is very hard for me, hum.. Perhaps, if we could talk alone?” Jon frown further at this.  _ What is happening? _

“You can speak in front of Shae my lord. She’s my friend, I trust her.” Sansa answers and Jon almost wishes he could tell her to not say that to a Lannister. But then again, he trusts Shae too, so who can he really blame? 

“I don’t doubt that, my lady.” Jon wishes Tyrion would stop calling her my lady. Sansa is not his lady. She’s not his, she’s Jon’s, in every way now. “It’s just.. Well, I suppose there’s no right way to announce this. We.. We are now betrothed, Lady Sansa. We are to be wed soon after the wedding of the King to Lady Margeary.”

Jon wants to yell, he wants to scream at the top of his lungs, barge into the room, and drag Tyrion out by his hair, take Sansa and run away from this hell. But he’s frozen, crouched next to the window, the heartbeat in his chest rapid and hectic, like the beat before a battle. The sun is hitting him, bathing him in the warm morning light, but Jon has never felt so cold. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback is always appreciated, I love you, take care of yourselves!


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you wonderful people ! Another day another chapter! Sorry for the long and irregular time between updates! I have recently finished work and had to deal with adult stuff and i am proud to announce you that I am going to starting school in Paris in the fall ( yes I am french haha ) ! I am also working on a book idea that is very dear to my heart and I am trying to write for that on the side too. I'll also be moving and doing some adulting before school so please, forgive me in advance if the chapters don't come as regularly as you hope. I promise you , I am not going to drop this fic, I WILL finish it but It might take some time okay. I love you all, thank you for sticking with me. Enjoy this!

**Jon**

Finding a moment of quiet and peace these days proves to be difficult. Everywhere he goes, Jon hears people talk about weddings. King Joffrey and Margeary’s wedding. Sansa’s wedding to Lord Tyrion. Two days ago, Olenna Tyrell mentionned a grand-niece of hers he would certainly like, as she said. Jon had almost chocked on his tea and the knot in his stomach had only tightened further. He’s been avoiding a lot of people lately, even Sansa and Shae, mostly keeping to himself. The thought of Sansa being married to a Lannister fills him with a rage he can’t contain. He takes all of his strength to not go and get her and run away from this hellish place right this instant. But he knows he can’t. So he’d rather avoid her altogether. This doesn’t stop every fiber of his being to miss her though. He misses her sweet voice, and sweet smile, he misses her singing to him after he’s finished reading a part of a book. He just misses her so much. He’s breaking his heart more and more every day by not seeing her. But he should get used to it, he tells himself. 

He’s sitting by the pier, looking at the bay, the few ships stationed there offering a calming view. The book in his lap untouched. Jon had tried to read this morning but the words had barely made sense, the life of Bittersteel proving not distracting enough for his brain. He sighs, wishing he could will his mind to think about anything else. A part of him wishes he could get on one of those ships, with Sansa’s hand in his and escape this city. He imagines the two of them, running away from the Red Keep and getting on a boat, leaving behind all the horrors and nightmares of King’s Landing.  _ One day _ , Jon tells himself,  _ when Robb wins and we all go home _ .

“Good afternoon, Lord Snow.” A voice breaks his reverie. He turns around, finding Lord Varys approaching him. In the back, Jon spots the Lannister guard silently watching over him like a good watchdog. Jon’s fingers itch with the need to run a sword through his throat. “I hope I am not disturbing you.” 

Jon’s eyes focus back on Lord Varys. He bows slightly in greeting. “You’re not, Lord Varys. Would you like to join me for a moment?” 

“I am afraid I can only stay for a short moment, my young lord.” Still, Varys takes a seat next to Jon, keeping his back straight. His eyes stay locked on a ship far on the bay. “Watching the ships is surely a nice passtime. I wish I had more time to do so.” 

“Too busy running your little bird’s secrets?” Jon doesn’t hide the taunt in his voice. Sometime, he surprises himself with how bold he’s become. He’s far from the quiet teenager he was back in Winterfell. He wonders when he has changed, is it the war? Is it the feeling of having another man’s bloond under his nails that changed him? Or maybe it’s the quiet after a battle as the dust settles and the bodies are piling up? Or maybe he was always like this, a voice inside him awakes, like a small candle in the dark, light and soft, but burning all the same.

Lord Varys barely laughs next to him. “Don’t discredit the secrets, Lord Snow. There are a few informations that I think you’d like to hear.” Jon frowns and is about to ask but Lord Varys grabs the book in his hands. “How have you enjoyed the book about the Blackfyres?” 

Jon turns back to stare at the bay. “I haven’t finished it yet..” He trails off, his eyes locked on the glowing water. 

“Oh, then you shall keep it a little more.” Lord Varys pushes the book back in his hands. “Who knows what you might learn from it. I am surprised you haven’t finished it yet however, you had given me the impression to be a fast reader.” 

“I .. I have been distracted.” 

“The news of the marriage between Lord Tyrion and your cousin must be quite the distraction.” Jon fidgets on his spot. “No need to try and find an excuse with me, Jon. Your feelings for your cousin is not a secret I want to spill ever.”

Jon wants to look at Varys, grab him by the collar and throw him in the bay. Lord Varys sits on the King’s small council.. The possibility of him exposing Sansa and him is too high. Jon can’t risk it. But something in Varys’s voice tells him that he means his words. Jon clears his throat. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re not out of the woods yet.” Varys sighs. “ This is not the reason of me looking for you. I am sure no one has let you know of this. But I feel like you have the right to know.” 

Jon schools his expression to a neutral one.  _ Don’t show emotions, whatever it is, don’t show anything _ , he thinks. “What is it?” 

“Your cousin Robb Stark. He has made a sudden attack on The Mountain’s troops a few days ago.” Jon’s heart stops, tears already forming. “It seems that his reputation of winning every battle remains true.” 

Jon lets out a long breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, and a tear escapes his eyes. So much for not showing, he scolds himself but he can’t help the smile on his lips. Robb is safe, he won another battle. 

“Be careful, my Lord. I would hate for people to witness this.” Varys tells him and Jon wipes the tears from his face. 

“My apologies. I..” He can’t finish his sentence. He can’t find the words that would express his relief at hearing the words. 

Lord Varys stands. “I know my lord. I understand. Your loyalty goes to your blood.” He takes a few steps, ready to leave Jon alone, but he stops and turns around one last time. “I hope you have some left for others who are willing to help.” 

Varys bows before turning on his heels and leaving Jon alone, on the pier, eyes glossy with tears, and a franctic beating heart. 

  
  


**Rhaenys**

  
  


Rhaenys watches as Trystane and Myrcella leave the common solar together, Myrcella’s small hand tucked safely in Trystan’s bigger hand. Rhaenys can’t help but smile as she watches them, their young romance blooming under the dornish sun. She wonders if they have any inclination of what’s happening out there, if they ever think about the raging war happening beyond the Red Mountains. 

With a sigh, she goes back to her seat after closing the door, ready to focus back on her own studies. She sits back at the desk she was using with Myrcella before Trystane asked her to go on a walk with him. Rhaenys’s mind goes to Robb. It feels like a lifetime ago when she was the one being taken on walks around the gardens. She thinks of the last thing he told her. _ I’ll write to you _ . And yet, it’s been a few weeks and still no letter. Rhaenys can’t say she’s disappointed in him, more in herself for believing him in the first place. But it’s fine, she tells herself. It’s alright, she’s lived this long without needing anyone to feel loved, so she’s fine. Or at least she tells herself that. 

  
  


She’s reviewing Myrcella’s work when Quentyn comes in. “Oh, hello Quentyn.” She greets him as he steps in the room. Quentyn vaguely nods at her, as if barely registering her presence. He’s not really looking at her, just touching things and dropping them after a few seconds. She watches him carefully, able to sense his nerves from where she’s sitting. “Do you need anything?” She asks after a moment. 

“No, I .. I was hoping to talk to you.” He says, turning to face her and putting his hands behind his back. 

“Oh? What about?” She is surprised, because truth be told, Quentyn and her aren’t really close. Sure, they’re cordial, and as children, he had loved to play with Arianne and her, but the bond hadn’t stuck. Arianne and Rhaenys had always been too close and sometimes Rhaenys felt bad for somehow stealing Arianne from Quentyn. As children, she had tried to get Quentyn to play with them but he’d get bored easily and always prefer to spend time on his own. Arianne would brush it off, but Rhaenys had felt bad for a while. She had hoped to be close to Quentyn, hoping that maybe, if she were, she wouldn’t miss Aegon that much. But she had tried and Quentyn had proven that he would never be her little brother, so she had stopped trying, keeping Aegon in her heart to herself. 

“It’s about Robb Stark.” Quentyn’s voice tells her she’s not going to like the rest of this conversation. 

“What about Robb Stark?” She asks, feeling a little bit defensive. Something inside of her tells her that she shouldn’t feel like this for someone she’s not technically linked to yet. But her heart is ready to take arms and fight off Quentyn at the slightest insult towards her intended. 

“I am just thinking. It is strange that his family would just agree him marrying you. I mean, no offence, but I don’t see how his family would be fine with him marrying the daughter of the man that run away with his aunt.” 

“What are you saying, Quentyn?” She drops her feather pen down, ready to lunge at him with her full force. She can feel the anger rising in her veins already, making her blood boil. 

“Just that his aunt was betrothed to Robert Baratheon and that she still went for your father. Who says he won’t do the same and run away with some woman he meets on the road? Ned Stark was accused of treason against King Joffrey and lost his head for it. Who says his son won’t betray us first chance he gets? Who says he won’t let the Lannisters know you’re alive and trade you for his sisters?” 

She stares at her cousin, her vision having fully turned red in the few minutes he’s been here. Her fists are clenched tightly at her sides as she rises from her seat at her desk. She crosses the distance between her and Quentyn, her eyes never leaving him. “For the love I bear for your father and your sister and brother, I will pretend that you’re saying this because you  _ do _ care for me. Robb was named King by his people because they believe in him. They trust him, Quentyn. He’s gone to war at the age of sixteen for his family, Quentyn. What have you done? Yes, he’s a Stark, and like you said, I am the daughter of the Targaryen prince that ran away with Robb’s aunt. That’s right, I am a Targaryen. I am a Princess by birthright. I have dragon’s blood in me.” She steps even closer to him. “So, a little word of advice. Do not belittle my intended to me ever again. You do  _ not _ want to slight me. I would hate to be hurtful to someone I call family.” 

“I am only saying this because I care, Rhaenys.” Quentyn insists. His brown eyes bore through Rhaenys’s but she’s not ready to back down. Dragons don’t bow in front of anyone. “We’re family and I would hate for you to be betrayed by someone who might not be worth it. 

“I’ll be the judge of who’s worthy and who’s not, and I would hate for you to fall under the latter. ” With that, she turns around on her heels and goes back to her desk. “You may leave now. I still have to study.” 

Quentyn gives her one last pointed look before hurrying out of the solar.. When the door shuts behind his hurried steps, she lets herself exhale. She rubs her temples hard, trying desperately to gather her breathing. Why would Quentyn do or even say something like this? She had never known him to be so mean? She’s trying so hard to trust Robb, even from miles away, she can’t let stupid doubts into her heart or brain. With a deep breath, she focuses back on her studies. The art of potion making is a tricky one and right now, for the sake of her family, she can’t afford mistakes. This could make her or break her so it has to be perfect. She thinks of her mother, of her baby brother, of fleeing King’s Landing, having to leave them behind. She pushes her palms against her eyes to stop the tears from falling. She can’t cry right now. She can’t allow herself to feel sad right now. She can’t miss them yet, missing them is only allowed when the sun has long set over the ocean and the only light around her are the candles in her room.  _ Not now, not now, _ she tells herself. She tries to focus on her breathing, tries desperately to focus on breathing as slowly as she can, to ease her rapid heartbeat. She manages it after a while, but if Myrcella’s parchments are soaked at some place, Rhaenys will pretend she doesn’t know how that happened. 

  
  
  


**Sansa**

  
  


Sansa isn’t one to get angry or upset. Not unecessarily at least, and after all she’s been through, not at the few people whom she stills trusts. She has been alone for so long in King’s Landing, with no one to truly trust and care for her, she felt like being upset at the few people who did would be useless. But somehow, she’s gritting her teeth as she goes over the plates with Shae. 

“I still think we should send someone..” Shae says. 

“I’m not giving him the chance to avoid me. It’s been too long.” Sansa answers quite pointedly. It’s only been five days, and she has barely seen Jon at all in those five days and it feels like a lifetime. She knows he’s here, can feel him somehow, but he’s also not reaching out to her in the way she’s used to and that is enough. They’re the only ones they can fully trust here, he’s the only family she has here, her number one ally along with Shae. They can’t fight amongst themselves. Not for this. 

She carries some of the food herself, Shae following her. The sun is about to set, and she knows Jon is in his room. And when she sees the Lannister guard, standing tall in his red armor near Jon’s door, she’s reassured knowing that she’s right. She clears her throat, and the guard turns to her. 

“Is my cousin in?” She asks politely, carefully making sure her voice is light and not rushed. 

The guard nods, and closes the distance to knock on Jon’s door. It opens a few seconds later, letting a tired Jon appear. “What?” He snaps at the guard. 

Sansa wants to roll her eyes at his behaviour, but she only steps forward, coming into view. “I thought we could have dinner in your room tonight.” And with that, she walks past the guard and Jon, entering his room. Shae walks in and they both put the food on the table. Shae curtsies towards Sansa, and then she turns to Jon. “Good luck.” She gives him a quick curtsy too, and leaves his room. Jon closes the door behind her, sparing a last glance at the guard. Sansa thinks the guard sends Jon an apologising look but she dismisses it. She takes a seat at the table, waiting for Jon. He stays quiet, standing near the closed door, and Sansa decides to start serving. She plates his food and cuts the piece of meat for him, and puts the plate in front of his seat. 

“Eat.” She keeps her voice strong, hoping he understands she’s not joking and won’t accept anything less but perfect obedience right now. She hears a sigh but a few seconds later, he’s sitting in front of her, picking at the grapes on his plate. She smiles as she cuts her own meat. “So what have you been doing lately?” She asks. 

She looks up at Jon and she finds his eyes already on hers. His grey eyes, the same one as Arya’s, as her father’s, and she finds herself wondering where Arya is, if she’s safe, if she’s eating, if she has a roof over her head. Winter is coming and she hopes her little sister is okay. 

“Not much. Just been reading. Wandering around the Keep.” Jon shrugs. 

“Any sights you’ve been discovering that I don’t know about?” 

Jon shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” Sansa waits for him to continue, doesn’t push him, she sees it in the way his mouth tremble slightly that he’s fighting with himself. So she waits. The answer comes not long after. “ I am sorry I shut you out. I shouldn’t have. I just.. I wish there was something I could do so you wouldn’t marry Tyrion.” 

“Didn’t you say he was nice to you?” Sansa says, remembering the time Jon told her about Tyrion’s stay at The Wall. Jon had described him as the only one who told about the true reality of the life in the Night’s Watch. 

“He’s still a Lannister.” Jon snorts. “Might as well hang ourselves now.” 

Sansa doesn’t add up on that, she thought about choosing death so many times before, back when she was promised to Joffrey and had no way out. But now, with Jon here.. “We’ll find a way. We always do.” 

Jon looks at her, his eyes searching hers, searching for something. She hopes she finds it, whatever it is, she hopes that she can give him whatever he’s seeking.

Once they’re finished with their supper, Sansa moves to his desk and grabs the first book she sees. “I thought you’d have finished reading this by now.” She shows him the book. He lets out a chuckle, as he lets himself fall against the headboard of his bed. 

“Lord Varys said the same thing.” She joins him and makes herself comfortable against the headboard too, unfolding her gown under her legs so it doesn’t crease. “I just can’t focus properly. Will you read it for me?” 

“Sure.” She smiles at him and he places his head on her lap, already closing his eyes. She opens the book, flicking through the pages. Something falls, a piece of parchment, and it lands on Jon’s forehead. “Oh, sorry..” 

She grabs the piece of parchment about to discard it, thinking it’s just a makeshift bookmark Jon made, but she notices a handwriting on it. An unfamiliar one. She reads the words and her heart stops in her chest. 

“Jon..” She shakes his shoulder. “What is this?” He opens his eyes, raising an eyebrow at her as she shows him the parchment. He sits up, reading it. Sansa watches him as he does, fear settling in her. 

“This was in the book?” His voice is low, grave, he almost doesn’t sound like him. She nods. “That’s impossible..” He says, more to himself than her.

“Who gave this to you?” She asks, whispering too. 

“No one.” 

“What do you mean  _ no one _ ? Jon, this was in your book, in your room!” She half yells. “If someone else had found it..” She can already see their severed heads on spikes, flaunted proudly for all King’s Landing to see. 

“It wasn’t in the book when I checked it earlier..” Jon stays calms. “I checked it before I ..”, something flashes in his eyes, “before I went to the pier.” 

He turns to her and grabs the book in Sansa’s hand. He rapidly flicks through the pages, only to find it as before. He then looks back at the parchment. “Varys.” 

“Lord Varys? He gave this to you?” Sansa frowns. “But the signature..” 

Jon stands up from the bed, pacing. “I don’t know who it is but I know Varys put the parchment here. He came by to see me when I was at the pier, he took the book for a minute, I didn’t really look, so he could have put it there and..” 

“But why?” Sansa asks. “Doesn’t he know that if something like this is found, then  _ we _ could get killed? We could get arrested for treason because this is what it is, Jon. This parchment, it’s treason. If someone finds it, we’re done for and our heads will be next to Father’s. ” 

“Varys wouldn’t do that.. He has always been kind to me.” Jon retorts, his feet stopping for a second. Sansa can see his brain running a thousand miles an hour, but she shakes her head at his words. 

“Yes, and he was kind towards to Father and to me. See how that turned out for us.” She bites her lips when she realizes she raised her voice. She turns towards the closed door, hoping it’s thick enough to conceal it, and that the guard outside won’t go and call anyone. She takes a deep breath and tries to think clearly. She rises from the bed and walks around to Jon. “Not that seeing Joffrey dead isn’t what I want most in the world, but we have to think about us. About our family. If we answer to this message, we’re actively comitting treason, Jon.”

Jon seems to think too, and Sansa wishes he would voice his thoughts, each of them, but half of her is afraid to hear them. “Joffrey killed Uncle Ned. They tried to get Bran killed. They beat you. We don’t know where Arya is, because of them. For fuck’s sake, we’re prisoners her..” He pulls at his hair and shuts his eyes in frustration. Sansa waits. “We could be killed. It could be a ploy by the Queen to see if we try anything and it could get us killed.” 

Sansa steps closer to his and grabs his face in her hands, turning him to look at her. “If it is, then at least we’re together. What matters is us, Jon. We don’t leave. Father fought for the truth, and died for it. We have to try.. ” 

Jon looks at her and she sees the hesitation in his eyes but a second later, he’s looking at her with determination. “You remind me of Robb sometimes.” It’s sudden, and it takes her by surprise and she takes a step back, stumbling. But Jon grabs her elbow gently, his fingers finding their way to her hand. He brings it to his lips and drops a kiss to her knuckles. “He’d be so proud of you.” And then, with the fierceness of a wolf, his eyes blazing a fire she’s never seen before. “Let’s do it then. Let’s bring winter to the lion’s den.” 

She smiles at him, and can’t help but crosses the space between them to kiss him, her hands finding their way to his hair. If she’s about to die, she wants to enjoy her last moments fully. Without holding back. 

  
  


_ I have a way to avenge your family and mine. The Lannisters’ reign has been going on for too long and is rooted on false claims. It’s time they pay their debts to both our families. Let me know if you want help.  _

_ R _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo .. who's up for good ol' revenge time?


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI EVERYONE! I don't know what this chapter is. I wanted to write something else, development for the plot but then I ended up with this. This is just me wanting to wrap Robb in a big blanket and snuggle him and protect him from the world. I promise, the plot will move forward in the next chapters, it's just that when it comes to Robb, I just melt. Also I wrote the half of Jon's pov and the entirety of Robb's pov while listening to Jungkook's cover of 10 000 hours. So yeah I am feeling very soft right now. Sue me.   
> I hope you enjoy it :), feel free to tell me how you like it ! Happy reading!

**Jon**

Jon stirs the tea Varys offered him, the honey at the bottom mixing with the lemon flavour. It’s late enough during the day that a cup of wine wouldn’t have been badly looked upon but he wants to fully sober for the conversation that will follow. He wants to remember everything, every word, every change of tone, every quirk of the lip that Varys might make, everything, anything that might be important. He keeps thinking this is only going to end up with a trial and his head on a spike. So he might as well try to remember everything for his trial later. 

Varys’s eyes are set on the book Jon laid out on the table as he sat down. “So I take it you liked it?” 

Jon sips the tea, takes his time tasting it. It’s still too warm for a hot day like this, the sun pouring from the window, taking over each inch of the room, but the liquid feels nice as it goes down his throat. It gives him time to think, to collect his senses, gather his courage to speak. He places the cup back down on the table once he’s done, then clasps his hands together in his lap, if only to stop them from shaking. 

“Yes. It was very informative.” Jon answers, focusing his eyes back on Varys. He wonders how old Varys is, how old was he when he got to King’s Landing. Has he always been good at harboring secrets, keeping them to himself until the right moment, planting treacherous seeds in virgin soils and see if they bloom? “I’ve very much enjoyed learning about the Blackfyres. I don’t know much about this side of my heritage. It was nice to learn about them, thank you.” 

“I’m glad I could be of service, my lord. Knowledge is a powerful tool when in good hands.” 

“You think this kind of knowledge is in good hands with me?” Jon asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Varys only stares at him, his face unmutable. “ If it weren’t, we would be in a very different situation.” 

Jon studies him for a minute, thinks about the man’s motives, what they could be. The answer isn’t as simple as he’d like it to be. Nothing ever is, but Jon is trying to see it. “Why are you doing all of this? What’s in it for you?” 

Varys sighs, before blowing quietly on his tea. It’s probably not hot anymore, but Jon watches him slowly sipping, as if it’s the most delicious drink and Jon wants to roll his eyes but he doesn’t. He just waits, patiently; in a corner of his mind, he thinks Sansa would be proud of him for doing so. 

“I tried helping your uncle when he got emprisoned. I really tried. And your cousin too. But I only have little power in those matters.” 

“I think you have more power than you say.” 

“Words are only powerful when they’re received well, my lord. And in this world, words are only what you make of them.” 

“And what should I make of the words I receive then?” Jon questions. 

“That, is not in my power. That is for you to choose. Just know that the words are true and come with good intentions.” 

Jon wants to scoff. Treason never comes with good intentions, not when it always ends in blood and his family on the receiving end. But he doesn’t, still arbhoring a collected expression. “I’ll be sure to remember that.” He says, grabbing his cup for one last sip. “Thank you for lending me the books. It was a kind gesture of you.” 

“Don’t thank me yet.” Varys grabs the book on the table and flickers through the pages. Jon sees it, the moment his eyes lay on it, it’s small and he only notices because he’s paying close attention to Varys. Varys doesn’t linger on it, turns the next page and continues his little inspection. He closes the book after, and clears his throat. “I see you’ve taken good care of it. I knew I could trust you with it.” 

“I hope I didn’t disappoint.” Jon says, and he’s almost surprised at how honest he sounds, but he is. He hopes he’s not making a mistake by trusting Varys. He thinks of Robb, his strong frame on the boat as he sails for Dorne to seek alliance with the Martells, of Lady Catelyn, with tears in her eyes as she asks him to rescue her daughters, of his uncle Ned’s face as he rode to the South, the last time Jon ever saw him. He thinks of Samwell, his pleading eyes as Jon rode out of Castle Black. He thinks of Ghost, the small pup he found so long ago now, his red eyes silently asking him to not leave him alone in the cold. All of them, who trusted him, who put their faith in him head first. And now, it’s his turn, he has to jump with both his feet off the edge and he’s never done that before, not with someone he’s not related to, and it’s scary but he has to take it. 

“Only time will tell.” Varys nods at him and Jon stays quiet, thinking about all the possible outcomes. He prays that only the good one happens. 

  
  


**Robb**

“Why can’t I stay too?” Arya whines, as she turns towards him. “I can help. I have a sword, and I am good with a bow and arrow, you know that, please Robb, let me stay.” 

Robb’s mouth falls open, a negative answer already prepared, the agreement he had with his mother coming back to him. Arya would join Lady Catelyn and Lady Brienne as they ride back to Winterfell. Battlefields and war councils aren’t the place for women after all, that’s what his mother had said, and Robb had wanted to protest, had wanted to mention the negociation she did successfully with Renly before he got murdered. He had wanted to say that Brienne is definitely worth a hundred times more than some of his strongest bannermen. But he had seen the look on her face, the exhaustion, the longing for home. He knew then he wouldn’t be able to refuse it to her, only because he felt it all the same in his bones. 

But as he looked at Arya now, still small, still looking up at him with those big grey eyes he loves so much, and she has her fists clenched at her sides, and he wants to grab them, undo the tension in his little sister’s fingers, hold those hands forever, let her know that he’s always going to be there for her, that he won’t let her go this time. And maybe it’s selfish of him, to see those eyes and those little fists belonging to someone so small but so full of will and fierceness, and want to keep it to himself. But Arya has always been the one he loves too much. His family would love to argue that it’s Sansa, and Robb would brush it off but it’s different. He loves Sansa a lot, too much too, for the way they’re so similar, the two eldest who have to make sure everyone else is safe. But he loves Arya for the way she’s free, the wild she-wolf he knows her to be, and when she’s there, he’s a little free too. 

So he looks at her, pleading him and he can only sigh before he says “Alright. You can stay.” 

Their mother who’s been standing next to them doesn’t wait to show her disagreement though. “But, Robb, you said..” She’s frowning at him, her bottom lip trembling slightly, and he hates that he’s the one causing her distress. 

He looks at her, not harshly, or anything, just looks at her, and with the look she sends him, he thinks she understands, for her face softens. “I’ll make sure she’s safe, mother, I promise.” Robb’s hand raises to the top of Arya’s head, ruffling her hair slightly. It’s shorter than he remembers, but he can see that it used to be even shorter, the dark brown strands curling under her chin slightly and he knows why she had to do it, why she passed as a boy. Anger hurls in his insides, screaming for the day he gets to make Tywin Lannister pay for everything he’s done to his family, for all the things they had to do to be safe. “But if you want to stay, you have to be good, alright?” 

Arya nods vigorously. “ I can help, I really can, and I’ll be good. You can count on me!” It’s how she looks at him, eyes big and just so willing to be good. Robb wants to protect these eyes forever. 

“I believe you, little one!” He says grinning. He brings a mop of hair in front of her face and it’s so easy, teasing Arya and the way she laughs too, and it’s like they’ve never been apart and they’re still in Winterfell and there’s no war outside of Riverrun. It’s so easy to do it, to forget every bad thing when his baby sister laughs so brightly, like nothing bad has ever happened to them. 

  
  


Later, when he’s preparing his mother’s horse himself, Lady Catelyn comes to him. She waits a moment before speaking and she sounds so fragile that he almost wishes he could keep her with him too. “Are you sure about this?” 

It takes him a moment to answer, taking extra time to make sure the saddle is tightly tied to the horse’s back, but not too tight so it doesn’t hurt the horse. “She’ll be fine mother.” He says quietly. And it’s so reminiscing of all the times he’s had to back up Arya after she’s made a mistake or got into trouble. 

“But she’s so young. What if she gets hurt? You know how she is..” He listens to her as she starts listing all the things Arya could do, mostly bad things. And half of him understands but half of him wants to brush her worries away. 

“She’s gotten this far and made it out alive, hasn’t she?” He protests gently, and the look on his mother’s face is still one of worry. “We have to start trusting her now.” 

Lady Catelyn stares back at him, and she purses her lips and he wishes he could assure her that everything will be fine but he doesn’t know that. So he doesn’t say it, just pats the horse’s back after fastening the last buckle. He goes to his mother and hugs her. It’s sudden and she’s not expecting it, he feels it in the way she tenses for a short few seconds, but quickly hugs him back. He makes sure to remember her fragrance, woody but flowery too, and just so much like home, it makes his heart ache. He drops a kiss to her temple, pushing the sadness away. 

“Will you hug Bran and Rickon for me?” 

She chuckles against his chest, he’s grown taller again, and she has to properly look up at him now, but when she looks at him with her soft eyes, the same blue as his, he feels so much younger, like he’s still a child asking for his mother’s approval. “Of course I will.” She looks at him, and a sad smile takes place on her lips. “You’re doing so much. I am so proud of you, but at the same time.. You’re only seventeen, on the dawn of turning eighteen. You’re still so young, and you’re carrying so much weight on your own. Never asking for anyone’s help. I hope you know you can. You can ask for help when you need it.” 

The words reach him and the tears come no long after but he doesn’t let them fall, only blinks them away, because now is not the time. He nods slowly. “I know. Thank you for reminding me.” 

“I’m your mother. What else am I here for?” She smiles as she wipes the corner of his eyes.

What else is she here for? So much, so much and she doesn’t know, doesn’t realize how much of the weight she’s carrying too, and how much of it is his too. But there’s something about family, how much trust you have for each other, how much of them it takes, how much of Robb is not really him alone, but his sisters and his brothers and Jon and his father and mother too , and he wonders if he’s the only one who can feel it. Sometimes, his brain will run for miles and won’t stop and it takes him so far, he forgets where he started but his family always brings him home. Always them, anything for them. And as he watches his mother ride off, he feels the weight even more, like stones on his shoulders, like a hammer on his chest, like an anchor at his ankles, dragging me down. But the air is cold, his sister is at his side, and if he focuses hard enough, he can almost smell the future snowfalls, like the ones back home, and it feels a little lighter then, his throat more open, ready to howl at the moon and call for his pack, calling them home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeddback is always appreciated ! If you ever want to talk to me or see me live tweeting while I am writing follow me on twitter i'm @taehmikrokosmos :)


	19. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE ! HELLO EVERYONE!   
> How are you all doing? I hope you're all well and safe and healthy! First of all, I want to have your attention on the situation in Lebanon and that if you have any way of donating, please do. If not, then spread the word on ways you can. Make sure to donate to Red Cross Organization in Lebanon and in actual organizations that aren't ruled by their government because they won't put the money to good use. Please stay safe everyone. Please.   
> Also, about the story. I am currently in the moving of moving to another place, still not a permanent one, but a better one for the time being, and as of today, thursday 07th august, i am not sure when i'll be able to upload the next chapter. I'll be writing though so , even if i don't upload right away, know that the chapters will be written. I am also writing two other fics at the same time and trying to write my book and learn korean and be a part of a fandom and also live a life so yeah. Excuse me again if updates aren't regular. I love this story so much so I am writing to the end. Do not worry about that. 
> 
> Alright enough of my rambling. Please stay safe, wear masks, take care of yourselves. I love you all and I want to say thank you for reading this story, it means the world to me. Enjoy this chapter :)

**Rhaenys**

  
  


The air is still hot even with the sun having set a long time ago, its light barely visible above the horizon. Rhaenys is lighting candles on Doran’s balcony, while Arianne and Myrcella are on the small outdoor canopy, reading a book of eastern tales, with Doran’s careful eyes watching over them. Trystane and Quentyn didn’t wish to stay, though Rhaenys had seen the wistful look Trystane had sent Myrcella as he had half-reluctantly followed Quentyn out. Rhaenys had smiled at the both of them, the first bloom of love is always a beautiful sight and witnessing it herself is always wonderful. Lighting another candle, she thinks about Aegon again, his memory coming to her more and more frequently these days. Sometimes she thinks it’s never really leaving her. She keeps trying to imagine what he would like. As a toddler, he had those beautiful luscious blonde hair, the Targaryen trademark, and those beautiful purple eyes, the same as hers and their father’s, and full lips that he’d always pull in a pout when he’d come to hug her. Aegon, her little dragon, her little star, the prince that never grew. Sometimes she’s scared that she’ll forget, that none of her memories will be accurate and that half of the ones she has are false, but then everyone else who knew him is gone, so someone has to remember him. So she tries to imagine him as a teenager, under the dornish sun, wearing the Martell’s colors of orange and yellow and flowy silk and tulle, tries to imagine what his voice would have sounded like, all grown and having known more words. Would he have been a singer too like their father? She smiles as she imagines him singing the dornish lullabies Arianne sang to her as a kid and she tries to not let her heart break at the thoughts. She will never know after all, will never touch his hair or face again, will never see his little eyes on her again. 

She blows her matchstick and heads over to the little cushion at Doran’s feet, taking her seat on it. He’s sitting on his usual chair, the one without the wheels, he prefers that one on night like this, where the air is warm and Arianne’s sweet voice carries the tales of eastern lovers trying hard to conquer the world. Doran’s hand comes to rest on Rhaenys’s head, a habit of his whenever she’s near, his comforting touch an anchor to her reality. 

“Thank you my dear.” He tells her quietly, not wanting to disturb Arianne and Myrcella a few feet away from them. 

“You’re welcome.” She smiles at him as she crosses her legs under her. “Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?” 

Doran shakes his head and smiles down at her. “No, you can rest now. I have actually wanted to tell you something.” Rhaenys turns to look at him with expectant eyes. Has a letter from Robb come? Had she missed it this morning when she picked the mail? “A raven from your uncle Oberyn came. It’s quite fortunate that it hasn’t fallen into the wrong hands, since it comes with some interesting news.” 

She waits, and she thinks she can hear the way Arianne’s voice go a little louder as she reads to Myrcella, and maybe it’s the way she’s grown up with them, the way she knows all the ways they protect someone, maybe that’s how she knows why Arianne raises her voice as she reads, shielding Myrcella from hearing them. It tells her not to react when Doran speaks his next words. 

“The Mountain is dead, Rhaen’.” It’s quiet, four simple words, spoken in the almost dark, meant for her alone, but it’s as if her uncle yelled them, and it’s loud. It’s loud and forceful and blunt and deafening in the way broken pieces of a fallen vase are once they’ve hit the floor. 

Rhaenys doesn’t speak for a minute, processing the words. She thinks of her mother, holding Aegon’s body close to her chest as the man in the white cloak tried to take him, her screams loud and deafening in a different way. She thinks of the pool of blood on the floor as the other knight took her away. She blinks the tears away. 

“Who did it?” She asks. She doesn’t really need to know, doesn’t want to, but she needs to focus on something else. Something other than the worst memory that The Mountain left her wih.

“Your uncle himself.” Doran sighs, his hand still against Rhaenys’s hair, moving in a soothing manner. She can barely feel it. “He’ll never shut up about it now.” 

It earns him a dry chuckle from Rhaenys. “One more thing for him to be proud of.” 

Doran smiles at her. “Don’t worry about Robb, he’s fine too.” 

Rhaenys averts her gaze downwards. “I wasn’t worrying about him.” It’s a lie, but she doesn’t know why she’s so flustered whenever it comes to Robb. After all, Doran himself arranged the match, so why does she feels like she has to hide the blush creeping out on her cheeks every time Robb’s name is mentionned. 

Doran’s hand comes to squish her cheek, he used to do it a lot when she was a child, to Arianne too, it’s his way of teasing them, pinching their full cheeks lovingly, and Rhaenys doesn’t even try to scoot away. “I know you track every raven coming in in case of news from him.” 

Again, she lowers his gaze. It’s a half truth, she does track every raven, hoping that one of them carries a message from Robb, but not only. It’s not the only message she awaits. It’s the only one who didn’t come though. She grabs Doran’s hand and holds it in both of hers, dropping a kiss to his knuckles, then letting it rest against her cheek. One day, she won’t have all of this, she won’t be sitting in Sunspear after watching the sun set and it aches her heart to think of a day like this. But she thinks of the future and she thinks of peace and snow and blue eyes and the aching eases slightly. 

She lets her head fall against Doran’s knee, careful to not hurt him, and lets go of his hand. She expects him to play with her hair again, but the weight of his hand never comes. 

“That fragrance..” Her heart suddenly beats faster in her chest. She had been careful to wash her hands and scrub the spices away after she was done. Could it be that some of it still lingered? Carefully, she looks up at Doran. His eyes are fully on her, inspecting her expression for answers she cannot give him right now. If she could, he would probably ask her to stop and she’d probably obey. “Are you alright, little one?” 

A simple question. Not the kind that requires deep thinking or analyzing. But it’s in the way Doran looks at her, like he knows, like he knows which spice lies in her room, which leaves are drying near her window, what her recurrent trip to the market by the bay are for, like he knows the contains of the message she received this morning. 

“Of course I am, uncle.” She answers him and she grabs his hand again, and doesn’t let her eyes fall as she kisses his tan skin again. She hates lying to him, the man who raised her and cares for her so much, but the less he knows, the better it is. “I am more than alright.” 

His smiles takes time to appear, but it’s there in the end and that’s all that matters to her. So she rests her head against his knee finally, heavy with doubt and hope, but his hand is steady in hers, holding it tight like the rope thrown over a ship to bring it to land. 

  
  


**Robb**

“Your sister is very good.” 

Oberyn’s voice comes quietly behind him, and Robb congratulates himself for being better at feeling the man’s presence before he announces himself. They’re in the courtyard of the castle. It’s another cloudy day in Riverrun and Robb can still feel the blood of the rabbit Grey Wind had caught this morning on his tongue. He’s currently watching over Arya’s training, standing on the side, as she shoots arrow after arrow on the straw man. The poor thing is pierced through and through, and Robb wants to feel proud at the fact that  _ yes _ , his little sister is good with a bow and arrow, as she had claimed. But something still feels uneasy in him. 

“It’s a static target. It’s harder to shoot when they’re moving, or when you’re moving.” Robb answers, his eyes never leaving Arya’s little frame. She’s so small, but he can see her cheeks filling up again, thanks to the meals he always pushes her to eat and that she never refuses. It’s been a few days since their mother left and Arya has been good, only threw a couple of tanthrums, that he had really tried to not give in but in the end, he has to choose his battles. And Arya is as stubborn as him so the choice was easy. 

“But she’s good.” Oberyn says. “With proper training, she could be a good soldier. If you let me, I-”

“My sister isn’t going to be a soldier.” And this time Robb turns to him, anting to make sure his point is clear. “She’s barely eleven, she’s a child, I am letting her train with a bow and arrow because she asked for it. That doesn’t mean she’ll be anywhere near the battlefield.” 

“I am just saying she could be greater. She’s small and fast. With a spear, she could do wonders.” Oberyn doesn’t give up and Robb wants to yell, grab Arya and put her on a horse and take her to Winterfell. But he made a promise to their mother, to himself. 

“I am not keeping my sister here so she can fight in a battle, Oberyn.” 

“That’s understood. But you’ll be surprised at how wonderful women are when it comes to fighting. I have a few daughters who could show it to you.” 

“You’d let your daughters fight in a battlefield?” Robb doesn’t show the surprise on his face, but it’s all there in his voice. 

Oberyn only shrugs, smirking slightly. “What does it matter who holds the spear as long as it ends up in my enemy’s belly? We don’t discriminate in Dorne.” 

Robb turns back to look at Arya. She has stopped shooting and is now talking to the boy who was with her. His name is Gendry and Arya told Robb that he’s a very good blacksmith and the boy had blushed ferociously as his little sister went on and asked Robb if he could stay. Gendry was tall, and looked strong but in a gentle way. And because Robb couldn’t really refuse Arya anything, he had agreed, and the young boy had promised that he was hard working. Had proved it too, if the blacksmirth in charge was telling the truth. 

“I’m sure you don’t.” Robb says, and when Oberyn doesn’t retort, Robb is glad for it. He doesn’t want to think about Arya on a battlefield, not now nor ever. Right now, all he can do is focus on keeping her safe. Keping all of them safe. 

  
  


Arya is lying on her bed in the room she was given and Robb is blowing some candles out so she can go to sleep in relative darkness. She was tired from her training today, he could tell by the way she didn’t fight to bathe and eat. She look so small like this, curled up under the covers, it brings him back when she was even smaller, he remembered her as a baby, how wild she had been even then. He smiles upon remembering, something Arya catches even in the obscurity of the room. 

“What are you thinking about?” She asks him. “Your beloved Rhaenys?” There’s a tease in her voice and Robb shoots her a glare but it dies quickly once he sees the smile on her face.

He shakes his head, and blows the match out. “No, I am not.” 

“Liar.” Arya teases again. “Why didn’t you bring her back with you? Her uncle is there.” 

Robb sighs and walks towards the bed, he seats on the edge and soothes the few wringles in the wool duvet. “It’s too dangerous for her. No one can know she’s still alive. It’s even dangerous for Oberyn and the spearmen to be here, but they insisted.” 

Arya nods, seeming to process his words. She frowns a little and Robb brings his fingers to ease the wrinkle between her brows. “People say he killed the Mountain.. The Red Viper, they said he looked mad. Is it true?”

Robb thinks back on that day. The memory seems so far away, like it happened long ago when it’s only been a few weeks. He recalls Oberyn’s eyes, the fury in them, his cool demeanor forgotten, how wild he had looked. He remembers how long it had taken to get him out of it. “It’s over now. You need to sleep, you’ve had a long day.” 

Arya whines. “No, come on, I want to know!”

“There’s nothing to tell, Arya.” Robb half lies. The full truth is he doesn’t want to remember that day himself. “It happened and now it’s over.”

Arya huffs loudly. “Fine. Then at least tell me about my future sister in law. How is she? Is she pretty like in the songs Sansa loves so much?” 

Robb almost blushes at the question. “She is. She’s very beautiful.” 

“Do you like her?” 

Robb looks away at the question. How does he explain this to Arya? How does it explain the situation to Arya, who never truly obeys, who has a mind of her own when it comes to rules and obligations? “I do, but it’s complicated. It’s a conversation for another time though, it’s late already.” 

Arya doesn’t protest this time, only sinks further into her pillow and drags the covers closer to her chin. Robb smooths the hair off her forehead, and her grey eyes close, and he does this for a few minutes and at some point, he thinks she’s asleep, but her small voice comes to him, asking a question he never thought he’d hear from her. “How do you know you like someone?” 

His hand stills on her hair, and she sighs against it. He resumes his moves, soothes the fur duvet instead, tugs at the strands next to him. He doesn’t answer until he’s sure she’s asleep. “I think you just know.” 

He watches Arya sleep for a few minutes, before he exits her room. He wonders what triggered Arya to ask about this. He thinks back about the Gendry, and the lingering looks he sends Arya when he thinks no one is looking. But Robb is looking, he sees the smile the boy holds for his younger sister, and the way she’ll frown and punch him a little lighter than anyone else, and how Gendry never truly holds it against her, even though he’s older and taller than her. He sighs as he closes the door behind him, and asks his heart to have some faith in his little sister, if not for her sake, then his. 

  
  


**Sansa**

The sun is high and bright as she watches the ship on the bay. She’s not on the pier, it’s too hot for that today, and she hadn’t wanted to go too far from the Red Keep today as Jon isn’t with her. Another day of him preferring books to the sun, but she can’t blame him. Jon is a northern man through and through, if she could look she’s sure she’d find snow or ice in his veins and the red leaves of the weirdwood tree around his heart. She misses home too of course, but she can’t imagine what it must be for him. 

“She may not be the greatest ship in the world.” A voice startles her, and she turns around to find Lord Baelish looking at her, his trademark all knowing smirk plastered on his lips. Sansa wants to slap it off of his face. “Or the fastest, but she’s mine.” He approaches her slowly and sits down on the stone next to her, and she does the same. She thinks back about the conversation they had back on the pier, it feels like a lifetime ago now, but she remembers him promising he’ll find a way to bring her home. But again, that was a long time ago, and Joffrey had promised to spare her father too. And now look where they are. 

“I’ve always wanted a ship. Now I wanted a dozen. Strange, isn’t it?” He continues, and Sansa wants to roll her eyes, tell him she doesn’t care about what he wants, she’s sick of hearing men say they want more than what they already have, their greed bigger than their needs. 

“What is?” She asks him, her voice sweet and small, like she knows they like it to be. 

“It does not matter what we want. Once we get it, we always want something else, more.” 

She looks down, thinking about his words. The people are starving, the kingdom is at war, her brothers and sisters are scattered around the land, Jon and her are prisoners of the people who murdered her father, and Lord Baelish talks about all the other ships he want. Sometimes she truly wonders if people really think of her as dim witted, as a stupid little girl that doesn’t understand anything about the world. 

“Your hair.. It’s different.” Lord Baelish notices, trying to grab her attention again. 

“Is it?” 

“Lady Margeary wears it this way.” He says.

“Many ladies wear it this way.” The retort is quick on her tongue, and she almost wishes she would have not spoken. He needs to think she’s on his side. If he truly means to take her home, she needs to be good, not letting him know that she does not trust him. Not one bit. She hates how his eyes linger on her face for a second too long before he speaks again. 

“I have good news. I’ll be leaving the city soon.”

“You still want me to come with you?” She asks, still unsure. Lord Baelish only bets where he has an interest in winning or gaining something. If he wants her to come with him when he leaves, it’s because he expects something in return. 

“It’s not a question of what I want. It’s about what you want.” 

She wants Joffrey’s head on a spike and the Lannisters to rot in hell where they belong. She wants the queen to see everyone she loves die a horrible death and have her die of a painful death too. She wants Tywin Lannister to die at Robb’s hand, the coward he is for coming here and not meeting him on the battlefield. She wants to slit Joffrey’s throat herself and watch as the life leave him. She wants them dead, those who hurt her family, all of them, dead and buried ten feet underground where they can’t hurt anyone again. She wants retribution. 

“You want to go home, don’t you?” Baelish asks when she stays quiet. 

“Of course,” she nods, “more than anything.” She thinks about the parchment hidden in Jon’s book. She thinks about the one they sent back. She thinks about Varys’s knowing smile as she walked by him this morning. She thinks about it, and she takes a deep breath, bracing herself. “But.. maybe, it would be better to wait.”

Lord Baelish watches her closely, studying her, so she plays the innocent card, like she knows so well how to. “I’ve been thinking how dangerous it would be, not just for me, but for you. You’ve been so kind to me, I’d feel terrible if anything were to happen to you.” 

If terrible means dancing on his dead body and burying him herself, then yes, Sansa would feel absolutely terrible. 

“I can’t tell you how touched I am by your concern for my well fare.” Sansa smiles at him, a little nod hoping that he doesn’t see the hate under the surface. “I hope you know that I’m your friend, your true friend.” 

The Queen had said that too once, had been kind to her and tried to educate her, hiding her hatred behind teas and fake pleasantries. “I do, Lord Baelish.” 

“Petyr.”

“Petyr.” The name tastes bitter on her tongue, like a fruit that’s been sitting in the sun for too long and you bite into it half hoping it won’t taste bitter but it does. Every fruit rotten to the core does. 

“If you wish to stay, then of course, you’ll stay.” To the untrained ear, his words would drip of kindness but Sansa only hears the rejection he feels at her request, and thinks that maybe she is better at this than she thinks. He grabs her hand and drops his lips to her knuckles. “We will speak again when I return.” 

She bows lightly at him before he stands up and leaves. She waits till he’s out of sight to wipe the back of her hand on her gown, if she could she’d put it to the flame to erase the feeling of it. Like any rotten fruit, the aftertaste is the worse, and she looks back at the bay, the vast sea open in front of her eyes, and she thinks about the words written on the parchment. The ones she doesn’t know who they’re from. She thinks about Lord Baelish’s words and his wish to take her home. It occurs to her that each time, he always seeks her out when Jon isn’t there, never mentions him in his plan of taking her away. It’s always her, her alone, and never her and Jon. There’s no world where there’s no Jon and her however, so she has to trust that the person who sent the parchment to Jon, also means to save her too. She has to trust that the wheel of fortune will turn around in her favor, and not forget her. She sighs, trust isn’t something she has in abundance lately, the last she has for Jon and Shae. It’s more than she can afford but she has to have a little more. A little more to hope for home. Always home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is always appreciated :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated as usual, come chat with me on twitter @paperskieszion :)!


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